


Lover

by casbean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Scent Marking, True Mates, no explicit sexual intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean
Summary: Dean knows that Cas doesn't like him. They're not even friends, not really. But Dean can't help it, he wants to be around Cas, he wants to be his friends, he wants... more. But he has to respect that Cas is just not interested.It's not until Cas gets into the first heat of his life in front of him that Dean is faced with the fact that maybe, just maybe, Cas doesn't hate him at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing art was made by the lovely [ thekingtrickster ](https://thekingtrickster.tumblr.com/)!!  
A thousand thanks to the love of my life [ suckerfordeansfreckles ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles) for beta-ing this beast and cheering me on through the highs and lows of writing.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean isn’t going to the club on the other side of town just to see Cas. No. That would be dumb, and stupid, and frankly rude of him to do. Cas doesn’t even like him. It’s fine when they’re around other people— Cas will look at him and talk to him and even laugh at Dean’s stupid jokes — but the moment they’re alone, he finds a way to escape. He obviously doesn’t want to be around Dean.

So it would be really fucking stupid of Dean to go out of his way on a Tuesday night and drive halfway across town on a heavy, rainy, humid day just because some of his friends will be there and maybe, just maybe, Cas will be too. Stupid and dangerous, because Dean forgot his scent blockers at home, which means they’re soon gonna wear off, especially in the heat that permeates through the humidity. Going to a club without blockers is a very clear invitation for sex, which Dean isn’t looking for right now.

Except if a certain blue-eyed acquaintance was to offer, of course, but that’s neither here nor there.

Dean feels more and more stupid as he finally approaches the club. Clubs aren’t his scene, and they’re certainly not Cas’ scene, so he probably won’t be here, and even if he was, he wouldn’t want to see Dean.

It’s so dumb that Dean’s missed him in the past couple of weeks. His rut kept him at home for a week, and since then work’s been crazy busy, so he’s missed quite a few events with his group of friends and, well. It’s not like him and Cas hang out alone together. They don’t even really hang out around other people.

Yet Dean feels this hollowness between his ribs that he knows is all about Cas, and about his stupid, crazy, persistent, and unrequited crush on the man.

Dean tries to get a grip on himself during the short walk from the parking lot. He’s just gonna say hi to his friends, buy them a drink, and leave. Maybe Cas will be there, maybe Dean will smile and Cas will smile back.

More realistically, he’ll smile and Cas will nod, before stubbornly looking at the opposite wall. Either way, Dean will be back in his car and driving home soon enough.

Dean can feel the steady pound of the bass before he even sees the club around the corner. He hates loud music, especially like this. He can feel it vibrating through his whole body, and he's definitely getting too old for it. He thinks about turning around, but then he sees him.

Cas is standing a few feet away from the club’s door, back against the wall and eyes down on his phone. He’s a clear fifteen feet away from the group of smokers loitering out around the entrance, and of course he’s wearing his stupid trench coat. They're two days into September and it's still hot as balls, but Cas does seem a bit naked when he's not wearing it. As he approaches, Dean notices the way raindrops and mist have caught in his hair.

The street lamps accentuate the sharp angles of Castiel’s features and the surrealistic blue of his eyes. He’s stunning, Dean’s always thought so, and has yet to see him look anything less than drop-dead gorgeous.

Dean calls his name, Castiel looks up, eyes widening. He's always like a deer caught in the headlights when he has the misfortune of being alone with Dean.

Cas raises his hands and waves a little awkwardly. Dean puts on his best smile and half-jogs towards him. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid how happy he is to see him.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas only nods, his eyes quickly darting around them before landing back on Dean. Dean keeps his distance, knowing he should just step into the club and go see the others, but there’s something warm in Castiel’s eyes that keeps him there.

“It’s good to see you,” Castiel says, and Dean finds himself a little speechless. His heart speeds up against his ribs.

“Yeah. Yeah, you too.”

“Were you sick?”

“No, um, rut.”

“Oh. Of course,” Cas nods.

He doesn’t offer anything else, he rarely does. Dean’s known him for a year and yet, Castiel is still a complete mystery.

It’s a shame, because Dean likes Cas a lot (too much) and he’s pretty sure that given the chance, they’d get on really well. He seems like quite a stern, serious guy at first, but when he comes out of his shell he’s actually funny, in a dry humour kind of way. He’s insanely smart, and kind of a geek, and passionate about the things that he cares about. He also takes no shit, and sometimes he’s even kind of scary, but the warmth he gives off when he laughs is contagious.

Okay, so maybe Dean knows _some _things about him.

Cas always wears scent blockers, and Dean has never known him to be in heat or in rut. They’ve never talked about it, but Dean guesses he’s a beta. Not that it matters — Dean doesn’t care about primary or secondary genders, but... Sometimes he’s still curious. He wonders what Castiel’s actual scent is like. If it’s… spicy, musky, like an alpha’s; if it’s flowery and subtle like a beta’s, or of it’s sugary sweet, like an omega’s. Of course those are the stereotypes, and most people don’t perfectly fit them, not to mention that scent is quite subjective. Despite everyone’s smell being as unique as their fingerprint, no one perceives others people's odor the same way.

He still wonders, though. He can’t help but think that Cas must smell as amazing as he looks.

“How are you?” Castiel asks, and bless him, he seems like he actually wants to know. But Cas is polite — that’s another thing Dean knows about him. He’s always polite and kind with Dean, and that’s the problem. That’s all he does, the bare minimum.

“I’m, uh, I’m good. Good day. Good week. What about you?”

There’s so much Dean wishes he could talk about with Cas. There’s a constant itch under his skin, he wants to know everything about Cas, and he wishes they could talk, endlessly, about anything and everything. But when it comes down to it, when Cas stands there staring at him, a little guarded, a little tense, a little bit like he doesn’t want to be there — Dean’s brain just empties. He knows he should leave, knows he shouldn’t bother Cas, knows he’s being an asshole. But he can’t move his feet, can’t pull his eyes away from him. He has this irrational need to be Castiel’s friend, to share his space, to be around him, even though Cas always keeps him at arm’s length.

“I’m fine.”

There’s a silence, and Dean rubs his hand on his neck. It’s really, really fucking dumb how light and happy it makes him just to be standing here with Cas, even in awkward silence. That he got to see him. To say hey. That he can drive home later and remember it. Maybe feel a little less like something is missing.

“Not going inside?” he asks in a desperate attempt to fill the silence that’s bordering on awkward. The music is loud, even standing outside, so Dean leans in closer to make sure Cas can hear.

“Not really my scene,” Cas answers, leaning forward too. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, damping the collar of his shirt. Dean resists the strong urge to lean over and lick it off his neck.

Most scent blockers are made to resist a certain amount of sweat, but they all have a limit, especially after a while. Dean isn’t sure if he’s terrified or excited at the thought that if Cas sweats enough, Dean might get a whiff of his natural scent. Better not think about it.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Why did you come, then?”

Dean doesn’t have a good answer, especially not when Cas is so close, when he can see every crease of his lips, the small wrinkles on the corners of his eyes.

“I, uh. I mean. I could ask you the same question, buddy,” he deflects, eyes caught by the light stubble on Castiel's jaw.

“That’s true,” Cas smiles, and Dean takes it like it is — a blessing. A small miracle. He made Castiel smile.

He rubs his neck again. He’s sweating already, and he’s not even in the club yet. The air is just so humid today, and it’s not really raining anymore, but Dean’s hair is still a little wet, and he just feel _soaked_. Cas is looking at him with something indescribable in his eyes and Dean can’t stop the soothing motion of his fingers on his skin as he searches for words.

He came all the way across town on a shitty rainy day to a club he has no intention of enjoying for the sole purpose of seeing a guy who doesn’t want to see him. This has to stop.

“Look, I, uh, I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel frowns. His gaze slides down Dean’s neck, following the movement of his hands. Dean pulls it back down to his side.

“I should leave you alone. I know you don’t like me and—”

“Don’t go.”

Dean looks up, wide-eyed. Cas is staring back at him, and he looks as surprised as Dean by what just came out of his mouth.

“Are you sure?”

Cas hesitates. His eyes track the movement of Dean’s hand, rubbing his neck mindlessly again. Castiel looks pale all of a sudden, and Dean watches him go through a full-body shudder.

Then he starts shaking.

“Cas? You okay?”

He makes a step forward into Castiel’s space — the guy looks like he’s about to fall over, swaying lightly.

“Dean—”

Cas’ voice sounds like a warning, but he raises his hands, grabbing the arm Dean has extended.

He makes a pained noise when they touch and Dean winces at how hard he’s gripping him. Cas’ nostrils flare, his eyelids droop down, his head tilting back.

“Cas—”

He’s scenting. Cas is _scenting _the air between them. He breathes in deep, deep, and then exhales.

“Dean—”

Castiel stumbles forward and Dean catches him, accidentally pressing Cas flush against his chest in the motion.

He’s heavy, warm, and he smells like — fuck. Dean gets a sudden whiff as their bodies collide, as Cas grabs onto his chest with force, his legs trembling under him. Cas smells sweet, first, he smells like caramel apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Much heavier than Cas’ weight in his arms, though, is the realization that comes next, almost knocking Dean over, turning his knees into jelly.

Cas is an omega. There’s no doubt about it, his scent is crystal clear — golden crusted apple pie, with a melting vanilla ice cream on top... Holy _fuck_. Dean inhales again, his nose almost pressed into Cas’ hair. He detects more subtleties behind the overwhelming sweetness — spices, cinnamon and nutmeg and maybe even a hint of clove; something darker, too, like high-end bourbon.

He wants to breathe in more, wants to bury his nose in Cas’ neck and breathe and lick and _bite_ — he has half a second to realize he’s spiralling before Cas makes a sound again, and his fingers dig in Dean’s skin painfully. Dean’s head stops spinning just to focus on one thing — there’s an omega in his arms, an omega trembling and whining and _holy shit_, Cas is in heat.

He’s in heat, and he’s pressing his entire body into Dean’s, and he’s nosing at Dean’s neck where the blockers have definitely worn off, from the sweat and his hand and—

“_Dean_,” Cas moans. Fuck, fuck, Dean’s head is spinning at a thousand miles a minute, dizzy with Cas’ intoxicating scent, with the way his soft hair tickles Dean’s jaw and his fingers tighten over and over against his chest, touching and groping and wanting— “Alpha, please—”

That almost does it. It’s a blow that leaves Dean dizzy, and he blindly reaches for the wall behind him to hold them up. A wave of heat and want and _must_ rises inside of him, pictures of shoving Cas into the wall and kissing and kissing and kissing and ripping off his stupid clothes and taking him right here and now—

“Dean,” Cas murmurs again, and his lips press against Dean’s skin, right on his scent glands, and fuck, he needs to shove Cas off before he does something he regrets.

“Cas—”

Dean makes a humongous effort to tame his own selfish needs and pushes Cas away, so he can look at him, and somehow assess what the fuck is going on. Cas clings to him desperately, whimpers as if any distance between them is physically painful.

Cas’ eyes are half closed, golden tainted; his forehead’s dripping sweat, his skin is burning hot. And the air is filled with the scent of buttery crust and spiced caramel apples—

“Dean, what’s happening to me?” Cas asks, clinging to Dean’s arms, and that’s like an ice cold bucket of water over his head.

Dean manages to focus on Cas and realizes that Cas looks, and smells, _afraid_. His brows are drawn close, his lips are shaking, and when he manages to focus his gaze, it’s wide and terrified. Underneath the first layer of sticky sweetness and spicy goodness, there’s a deep undercurrent of sour anxiety.

“You’re in heat, Cas,” Dean says as softly as he can manage. His entire mind has shifted into protective mode, something he can’t control — the scent of a distressed omega is a call he can’t deny.

“It’s impossible — _oh_, Dean, _Dean_—” Cas moans, obviously scenting the protective and possessive alpha smell coming off of Dean in waves.

This is a bad situation, and Dean’s overly aware of that. The guy he’s in love with just went into heat in front of him. Not only that, but he went into heat in front of a fucking club. This isn’t just bad, it’s fucking dangerous, and for a moment Dean’s furious at Cas for being so careless, to come here when his heat was about to hit.

He lets Cas bury himself into his arms again and quickly looks around — and as he feared, there are at least a dozen eyes on them. Alphas, most of them, much closer than they were before. Nose in the air, ready to pounce.

Dean instinctively puffs off his chest and bares his teeth, wrapping his arms around Cas and bringing him closer. Cas whines, a new wave of mind-melting scent coming off of him — and Dean can smell it now, slick, slick that smells way too good, not just because Dean is deeply partial to pie.

“Cas, we gotta get you out of here.”

“I don’t understand, I don’t—”

Dean growls again, louder, as the alphas facing them take another step forward. It vibrates deep in his chest, shaking both him and Cas and rumbling into the street, loud and clear — _stay away_. His fangs descend, his scent turns possessive and dangerous, daring them to approach, promising violence.

The way to Dean’s car is blocked. No one is making a move. It’d be dangerous to throw himself at them, to leave Cas behind or try to drag him through — the only thing he can do right now is stand here and pray that they don’t initiate a fight.

He slides his hand in his pocket, finds his phone, unlocks it without taking his eyes off the pack of alphas, still standing there and staring.

The number for _Safelyfts_ is on his speed dial. They answer immediately, as professional as their service promises. Dean tells them the address and asks them to hurry.

He puts his phone away, tightens his arms around Cas’, and scent marks him. He tells himself that it’s all about safety — he’s hoping to stifle Cas’ unmated omega scent with his own, or at least mix them enough that Cas’ scent loses its potency to strangers. It’ll smell a lot less enticing mixed with Dean’s, especially as he must smell only of _mine, mine, mine_.

Cas makes a broken sound and presses himself tighter against Dean, rubbing his cheeks into Dean’s neck in return. Tears well up in Dean’s eyes as he resists the painful urge to slam Cas against the wall and rut against him until they both come undone.

It’s wrong, he knows, to feel this way about Cas, because in spite of the way Cas is currently grinding against him in any way he can, it doesn’t change the way Cas _actually_ feels about him. This is just his heat making him loose his mind, and Dean would never, ever take advantage of that.

But he can’t help the possessiveness coming off of him in waves — it’s a mix of instinct and adrenaline, a pure reaction to someone he cares about going into sudden and dangerous heat. Thankfully biology has made alpha’s need to protect even stronger than their need to mate — at least when it comes to those they love.

He rubs his palm on Cas’ back soothingly, murmurs gentle things in his ears — “you’ll be okay, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay”, forcing himself to remember that Cas doesn’t like him, that he might even hate him, and that the way he’s nuzzling and rubbing himself on him and pleading Dean’s name is purely a result of hormones he’s not in control of.

The alphas take another step forward while Dean’s not looking. He braces himself.

White lights illuminate the scene, blinding him for an instant. He lets out a breath of relief when the blue car almost climbs onto the sidewalk, parking between them and the pack of alphas. The safelyft. Thank fuck.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean urges, shaking him a little, trying to get him to pull back enough that they can make their way to the curb. He only breathes again when the door closes behind them, locking them safely away from the pack of alphas.

They watch the car driving away, unmoving, and Dean can’t help but squeeze Cas in his arms just a little tighter, his heart pounding, adrenaline slowly coming down.

The driver is extremely professional, apparently unaffected by the writhing omega in the back seat. Safelyfts are designed to help alphas and omegas get home safe when they’re starting heat or rut away from home. There’s a glass panel isolating the backseat so the driver can’t pick up any scent, as well as neutralizing scent blockers sprayed to every surface. Despite that, Dean can feel his own scent getting stronger, the last of his blockers fading and his need growing every time Cas nuzzles and licks at his neck.

He gives the driver the address to Cas’ house, and only then does he turn his attention back to the trembling omega that has almost climbed on his lap. Cas’ hands are running all over Dean’s chest, his mouth is latching onto Dean’s neck, his shoulder, his jaw. He’s rutting his hips against Dean, and Dean can feel him, hard and wanting, can smell the slick leaking through his underwear and into his pants.

“Cas you gotta stop, my blockers—”

Cas growls in frustration and pulls at Dean’s shirt, his teeth leaving a sharp pain as they almost break the skin of Dean’s neck. Heat runs flaming under Dean’s skin and his entire body seizes with the need to _take_, _knot, claim._

“I can’t control it, Dean, I — I need you, please, need you—”

Dean grinds his teeth, turning his face away from the assault of Cas’ scent and pressing his forehead into the cold glass.

“We’re almost there, almost home, you’re gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he repeats, both for Cas’ sake and his own.

Finally, the car comes to a halt in front of Castiel’s door, painted bright red and flanked by bushes of blooming flowers.

Dean quickly swipes his credit card onto the machine and drags Castiel out.

He has to carry him to the door, Cas’ arm thrown around his shoulder, his attempts at eating Dean alive almost causing them to trip at least twice. Every second they spend outside increases the danger for Cas — anyone could smell them, smell Cas, and who knows what they’d do.

Dean has heard enough horror stories about it.

He lets out a breath of relief when he finally unlocks Cas’ door— he had to dip his hand in Cas’ back pocket to fish out his keys, accidentally feeling Cas’ wetness through the layers — and slams the door close behind them.

But his relief only lasts a second, until the scent of Cas’ house hits him, flaky pie crust and sweet brown sugar, melted vanilla ice cream and aged bourbon — it’s really not fair that Cas smells like all of Dean’s favourite things.

Dean’s only been to Cas’ house once for a barbecue, but Cas had obviously sprayed scent neutralizers everywhere that day. At least he kind of knows the layout of the place. He remembers wandering around a bit, unable to resist casting a quick glance in Cas’ bedroom, hoping to gather some more clues about all the things he wished he knew. It didn’t tell him much, though, except that Cas has an X-Files poster right above his bed, and a collection of fantasy swords that made Dean green with jealousy.

He also noticed the heat/rut room locking system that most houses now possess — doors locking that can only be unlocked using a special command, usually sent from a cell phone. Dean doesn’t think twice before grabbing Cas’ phone out of his pocket and shoving it into his own.

He pushes Cas through the bedroom doorway and tries to keep him at arm’s length, but Cas keeps grabbing his hands and rubbing his cheeks all over them, smearing his scent, pressing Dean's fingers into his sweat-slick neck.

“Fuck, Cas, you gotta stop—”

“I can’t, I can’t, please, I need you, please, _please_.”

His voice, those words, make Dean so weak that Cas manages to drag Dean closer again.

Cas is really fucking strong, definitely nothing like the stereotypically thin and small omega that medias often like to portray— which is rarely accurate, but still, Cas is the complete opposite. He’s thick and strong and so fucking beautiful—

Only the the sheer power of will keeps Dean standing. He’s been hard in his pants since halfway into the car ride, and now the scent of his own arousal fills the air, mixing with Cas'. Castiel’s hands wander under Dean’s shirt, trying to pull it off, tear it off.

“No, Cas, I can’t, you _know _I can’t.”

He grabs Cas’ wrists and pushes him off, almost roughly. Without Dean’s grip to hold him up, Cas wavers for a moment before tumbling down, knees on the carpet at the foot of his bed.

“Alpha…” is the last thing Dean hears before he manages to step back and close the door between them, locking it using Cas' phone. Cas’ broken voice still carries through the thick wood. He feels Cas pressing himself against it, whining such a pained noise that Dean’s entire body hurts and he almost falls to the ground, too.

“No, _no_, Dean, please.”

“You’re okay, Cas. You’re fine. You’re okay. I’m gonna call someone — I’m gonna call Meg and we’re gonna figure this out and it’s all gonna be okay, alright?”

Cas’ pained answer makes it pretty obvious that he doesn’t agree. Dean knows how heat or rut make people irrational, make them lose control, completely take over any ounce of thinking or logic, but he’s never seen it as intense as it seems to be on Cas right now. He’s completely and utterly out of control. Even drunk or high, the guy holds himself together better than anyone else Dean has ever met; up until now he thought Cas was the most stoic, well-balanced person on this Earth. This isn’t him.

Obviously Cas can’t make decisions for himself right now, so despite how much Dean wants to yield to those pleas and let Cas take everything he needs, he can’t. He absolutely cannot open this door again right now, for both their sakes.

Dean grinds his teeth, forehead against the cold wood. He’s beginning to think clearly again, now that Cas isn’t all pressed up against him.

“Get out of your clothes and get to bed," he instructs, as gently as possible. "Grab your toys, you’ll be fine.”

Dean knows Cas has obeyed when his scent, ten times more potent, drifts from under the door. He hurtles down the stairs before he does something he’ll regret.

Dean has several unanswered texts from his friends when he takes his phone out of his pants.

He hesitates on who to call — Meg is technically Cas’ closest friend, but Dean doesn’t really like her. She rubs him the wrong way, for reasons he can’t really explain. Maybe because she’s kind of cold and snarky and a little selfish, sometimes, yet Cas still likes her better than Dean, and that… hurts. Maybe because she’s an alpha and her scent of coals and _burnt_ always makes him want to pinch his nose.

Still. She’s Cas’ friend, and right now, he’d probably much rather see her than Dean, so he swallows down his pride (and his jealousy) and how wrong it feels to be calling another alpha to the rescue — and presses the green button.

She immediately picks up.

“What the hell did you do, Winchester? Cas was supposed to meet me inside and now he’s gone and there’s a roaming pack of alphas all worked up—”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean replies. He wipes his forehead, his neck, chucks off a layer of flannel. He’s fucking drenched in sweat. “Cas went into heat, I got him home.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“Cas got into—”

“That’s not possible,” Meg cuts, as Dean grinds his teeth.

“Well, he did.”

“Tell me you didn't—"

“Jesus, Meg, I’m not a fucking knothead, I’d never do that to him.”

Dean hears Meg sighing on the other end of the line.

“Are you _sure _he’s in heat?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure.”

He resists the urge to pinch his nose just so he can get a fucking respite from the desperate, yearning omega in heat scent that is permeating the whole house now.

“How is he doing?”

Dean can still hear Cas upstairs, calling out for him, an added edge of desperation and arousal laced through his voice.

“He’s kind of losing it. Smells like—” _Heaven. Like all of my dreams come true_. “I don't know, Meg, he's out of control. I had to lock him in his bedroom so he wouldn’t jump me. He’s _not _happy about it.”

“Fuck,” Meg whispers. “You didn’t scent mark him, did you?”

“I had to! Those assholes at the club were not fucking backing down.”

“Shit.”

“I know.” The realization of what he’s done slowly dawns on Dean. He fucking scent-marked an omega in heat — he fucking scent marked _Cas_. As _his_. No wonder there’s a throbbing ache beneath his ribs, no wonder he can’t fucking think straight. Everything in him is aching to be with Cas right now, touching him, kissing him, marking him. He pushes it down and stomps on it. This isn’t about him, this isn’t about how he feels. The only thing that matters is Cas’ safety. “So what now?”

“I’m gonna come over. He must be pretty freaked out.”

“Yeah, you tell me.”

“Don’t you dare do anything until I get there.”

“Of _course_ not.”

To mark his words, Dean grabs his hormone suppressant bottle out of his coat pocket and swallows a couple. He really wishes he had blockers to cover his scent glands, too. His own aroused smell doesn’t help his state of mind. He quickly looks around Cas’ living room, hoping to find a stick, but to not avail.

“He’s kind of out of control, is it always like this? I’m not sure what to do to help.”

Meg doesn’t answer.

“Meg?” Dean presses.

“I don’t know. Castiel has never been in heat.”

“_What_?”

“He’s never had a heat before. I didn’t even know he could. I don’t think he did, either.”

Dean is speechless. He _did _think that Cas’ heat was pretty intense, and couldn’t for the life of him imagine what Cas was doing at a club knowing it was about to hit — but he never thought that Cas just didn’t _know_. That he didn’t see the signs, because it had never happened to him before.

“Wait, so he never presented? But he’s thirty—”

“He told me he presented as an omega in his teens, but he’s never had a heat. Not sure he ever had sex.”

“_Shit_.”

“Damn right.”

A loud whines comes from up the stairs, soon followed by the sound of something heavy banging against a door. Dean swallows thickly, trying to breathe through his mouth, but it doesn’t help, his tongue coated in sticky caramel and vanilla taste.

“But — so, he’s asexual?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“Ok, so, what changed? Why now?”

Again, Meg gives him no answer.

“What do I do? Does he have any idea of what this is gonna be like?”

“I have no idea, Dean. Clarence’s pretty private when it comes to this stuff. I had to pry it out of him.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, trying to think. His thoughts are all over the place, but mostly upstairs, with Cas, who must be completely freaking out right now.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to the store and get him what he needs — shit, should I order food first? Or grab some protein bars — should I even leave him alone?”

“I’m on my way," Meg says, and Dean can hear the honk of cars in the background. "I’ll try to talk him down while you go to the store and get him what he needs.”

“Well, take some suppressants before you get here,” Dean warns her. An unsettling wave of possessiveness hits him just at the thought of letting another alpha step into (_his mate_) Cas’ house, but he shoves it back down. “It’s bad, and I know you’re mated, but—”

“I’ll be fine, Dean. And believe me, Clarence doesn’t want me. I tried.”

“Well, he didn’t want me either until half an hour ago, so let’s not take any fucking chance, okay?”

Meg seems surprisingly unaffected when she walks into the house, twenty excruciating minutes later. Dean’s been pacing in front of the door the whole time, trying to block out both the sound of Cas begging to be let out and the scent of a terrified, lonely, needy omega that has managed to coat the whole house.

She wrinkles her nose a little but nothing more, and Dean wonders how she can be so calm in a situation like this. Cas is unmated, and smells like fucking heaven, and what kind of alpha could resist that? What kind of _person_ could not desperately want Cas, even on a normal day?

Bracing himself, Dean follows her upstairs. No matter how indifferent she seems, Dean’s self-control has a hard limit, which is allowing anyone who has the remote possibility of hurting Cas be near him unsupervised. He realizes now what a mistake it was to scent-mark Cas, back at the club. It wasn’t a real, official marking, he didn’t bite or mate Cas, but it was still a bad move — it mixed their scents in a way that still lingers on his skin and makes everything so much more difficult. Not only does his alpha think of Cas as _his_, but it probably makes it a lot harder for Cas to be alone, now that he’s been somewhat claimed, albeit poorly.

Dean tracks every movement Meg makes as she approaches the bedroom, body taunt like a string. He won’t let _anyone _hurt Cas right now, fuck, he’ll tear her throat out if she even lays a _finger_ on him—

Meg turns around and rolls her eyes at Dean, clearly smelling the aggressiveness in Dean’s scent.

“Chill, big boy.”

They reach Cas’ door and Dean hears a thump, a whine, the sound of nails dragging against wood.

“Dean, _Dean—_”

“Clarence, it’s me,” Meg says, gently knocking on the wood.

How is she not tearing down the door right now? Dean’s hands shake and he curls them into fists, vision turning red as he stares at the doorknob separating him from what his mind screams is _his mate_.

“Dean is here," Cas says, voice trembling. "I can smell—”

“Yeah, I’m here, buddy,” Dean says, closing his eyes, wishing his voice to be steady. “We’re gonna get you through this, alright?”

Meg’s dark eyes are evaluating Dean, like she expects him to pounce and break down the door at any moment.

“You need to go get some fresh air," she tells Dean, carefully, as to not rile him up. "Go get him supplies, breathe a little. He's gonna need a fake knot or two, some food. Boy can't cook to save his life. I’ll woman the fort.”

“Doesn’t he have any? Toys, I mean?”

“I doubt it.”

Dean eyes her for a few more seconds, emotions battling inside his chest. Her scent is neutral and she barely bats an eye when Cas makes a broken sound and claws at the door again. Dean can’t phantom how she can be so in control, but he doesn’t have the luxury to question it. He needs to get the fuck out of here, at least for a little while.

The thought of leaving Cas behind, though, (_his mate_) his friend, while he's in so much pain, makes bile claw at his throat. It feels like leaving half of his heart behind.

“I’ll be back in a little while, alright buddy?” he still manages to croak, pressing his hand on the wood.

“Dean, no, please, don’t—”

“He’ll only be gone an hour, getting you some supplies,” Meg tells Cas, her voice soft, almost purring. “And then he’ll be right back. Right, Dean?”

“Yeah. Gonna get some some stuff for you and be right back, Cas. I promise.”

Cas lets out an echoing scream through the door, as if someone has just teared off one of his limbs

“Do you have anything you could leave?” Meg asks him as he stares at the wood, every cell in his body begging for it to vanish so he can touch and kiss and mark and _mate_— “Something that smells like you. He’s clearly in distress and he needs his alpha’s scent with him.”

“But I’m — I'm not his alpha,” Dean stupidly says.

“You were there when he went into heat, you marked him, you brought him here safely, and he keeps pleading your name through that door. Right now, you’re as close as you can get to being his mate, and he needs you.”

Without thinking, Dean grabs his extra layer of flannel and hands it to her — it's got grease from the garage and probably smells a lot more like sweat than anything else, but it's either that or going to the store half-naked.

“Wait until I’m out before you open the door, alright?” he pleads as he hands Meg Cas' phone.

She nods.

It takes everything Dean has to step out of the house. He leans back against the front door for a full minute, just breathing the fresh, neutral scent of outside, before he can move again.


	3. Chapter 3

The girl at the sex shop is very helpful. Dean initially intended to go for a fake knot — although not too big, because apparently Cas might have never taken any kind of knot, and even though he’s in heat — actually, _because_ he’s in heat and obviously out of his mind — Dean doesn’t want to risk him hurting himself. He asks her for some advice, and ends up telling her everything — that his friend is ace, that it’s his first heat, that Dean has no idea what to do to help him.

She’s not phased at all. She says she’s ace herself, and that this isn’t the first time she’s heard this kind of story. She suggests plugs, to keep Cas calm and sated over a longer period of time. A lot of ace omegas enjoy being plugged more than they enjoy being knotted, and it helps keep the hormones down during heat without feeling like fucking.

She also suggests allowing him the scent of an alpha, if possible reassuring touches, cuddles, anything he wants that isn't sex. She says that contrary to popular belief Cas won't need penetration, or even sex, for his heat to pass on its own — although orgasms do help, if not just to relief the extreme stress his body will be under. Lowering the amount of mating hormones is the goal, and for many people, alpha or omega, that can be achieved through touches and scenting alone.

It's not as easy, she warns, and if he's not used to it, he might be taken by surprise by the new experience and seem out of control. He might want to do things he's going to regret later, she carefully points out.

Dean buys two fake knots and three sizes of plugs just to cover the bases, and a couple of other things, just in case.

He also buys a whole pack of scent blockers, some hormone suppressants, even though his rut was a week ago, and some downers, because there’s no way he can be around Cas in this state without a fat fucking boner, and that just wouldn’t be right. He needs to keep a clear head, put Cas' safety first, _always_.

Dean feels much calmer when he leaves the sex shop. And more determined than ever to not leave Cas alone, to go back to him and take care of him and get him through this. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing that Cas would probably rather have anyone else by his side for this, at least someone he _likes_, but the girl at the store confirmed Meg's idea, that Cas needs _him_, right now.

Dean stops by his place, packing a few changes of clothes, personal items, and on a whim, a few blankets, pillows, and changes of sheets, too. The girl said Cas would need as much of his Alpha's scent as possible, surrounding him.

He calls work, warning them that he won't be able to come in for a few days. He then stops by a grocery store to get packs of sports drinks, water, and energy bars. Then drives by a few take out places on the way back, grabbing enough provisions for a week. He knows it’s creepy, but he’s always paid attention to whatever Castiel ordered during their group hangs, and therefore he knows that Castiel likes his pizza with extra mushrooms, that he likes honey-garlic chicken wings, and that he loves dumpling and peanut stir-fry. That he prefers waffle fries to normal fries, and that he would kill for a hamburger.

“I’m on my way back,” Dean tells Meg when she answers the phone. It's been a little over an hour and he can feel it, can feel the way his chest is starting to tighten, making it hard to breathe. So he needs Cas to know that it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be back.

“Girl at the store says Cas needs an alpha with him, needs — me. So I'm gonna stay with him.”

"Did she also tell you that heat doesn't mean consent?"

"Yes," Dean growls, almost swerving his car into traffic just at the thought of someone — him — hurting Cas like that. "I would _never—"_

"Yeah. Well. He keeps asking for you. You close?"

"Yeah."

Dean slams his foot on the gas.

He has to pause as he walks into Cas’ house again, the sounds coming from Cas’ bedroom and the scent of desperation and arousal and _need _wafting from the first floor almost cutting him off at the knees. He can’t even fucking breathe without filling up his lungs with _Cas_.

Meg is sitting with her back against Cas’ bedroom door, looking at the ceiling, apparently quite bored.

“Hey, I’m back.”

Dean shuts his eyes tightly as he hears Cas coming undone through the door. He can’t not picture it, not when everything smells like Cas, wanting, desperate; not when his name is on Cas’ lips as he cries out his pleasure. Dean’s hands start shaking uncontrollably, his knees buckle and he drops the grocery bags on the floor. His nostrils fill up with sticky, sweet, pungent release, and it takes him a full minute before he can talk.

Meg gets up, casual, like the world hasn't just stopped turning for a minute.

“I, um. Got him stuff," Dean croaks. "Should help.”

Meg nods, taking out one of the fake knots, plugs, and vibrators, lifting her eyebrow appreciatively.

“He should be a bit better for a while," she says, nodding towards the door, behind which Cas has gone silent. "I think you can enter without any danger to yourself.”

“Okay. Um. Thanks.”

“Dean?” Cas' voice, a little broken, comes muffled through the door.

“I’ll be there in a minute, buddy, alright?”

Dean throws his head back, trying to breathe through his mouth, but it only coats his tongue with slow-cooked apples and spices and the darker taste of aged bourbon.

“Should I stay?”

“I think I got it, I just…”

“You don’t have to do this," Meg tells him. "I can call an alpha service.”

Again, the thought of anyone else — professional or not — getting anywhere near Cas right now sends Dean reeling back with anger.

“Or not,” Meg comments, her nose twitching.

“I can take care of him,” he says through gritted teeth.

"Fine. I’m going to text you both every half hour for updates." She hands Cas' phone back to Dean. The lock screen is blowing up with notifications from their worried friends. "And if I hear that you've knotted him, I'll rip you into so many pieces that—"

"I won't. Go. You should go," Dean growls, because she's starting to smell a little too protective of _Dean's _omega, and it's getting dangerous.

Dean waits until he hears the front door closing, and then pops a downer, hoping that it's enough. They’re supposed to keep his libido down and flag down any sign of erection, and can be dangerous at a high dosage — but at this rate, Dean’s not sure if any amount of drug will get him through this. The suppressants, supposed to lower his production of alpha hormones, have not been working great.

He unlocks the door, almost expecting Cas to be waiting right behind and jump on him — but he's not.

Now that he's in the room, the scent hits Dean with full force and he staggers, but remains steady, breathing in and out a few times until he can think again.

There's a Cas-sized lump in the middle of the bed, center of a messy, half-made nest of covers and cushions, nothing like what a real nest should be. Dean aches with the need to make it _better_, but he needs to assess the situation first.

Thankfully, Cas isn’t naked — there’s a sheet wrapped around his waist, and Dean can see his wild mop of hair sticking out where he’s buried his face in Dean’s flannel.

Fucking Hell.

“Cas?”

Cas lets out a little sound and rubs his face into the shirt — Dean’s shirt — with a purring sound.

Dean takes another careful step.

“You, um. You okay?”

“Yes.” Cas sighs, moves a little, getting up on his elbows. Dean can see the side of his face now, crimson red, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

“I’m very sorry about all this,” Cas says. His voice breaks on the last word. He tries to look at Dean but fails, and presses his face into the flannel again, breathing in deep. “I never meant to — assault you, and — beg. I can’t seem to control it.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Hey, you’re fine,” he adds as Cas vehemently shakes his head.

“I’m not.”

“You’re gonna be, alright?”

Dean makes the last few steps and carefully sits on the edge of the bed. He’s not touching Cas but he can feel the weight of him dipping the mattress, can feel the warmth of his feet seeping through, so close to his hip. Cas' legs lay bare, thick, hairy, taunt. Dean doesn’t let his eyes run further up, to the sheet-covered part, or to his naked back, muscles flexing under tan skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I, um. I got you a couple things. To help. Fake knots and, um, plugs. Girl at the store said it should help. Nothing too big, but, uh, take it slow, alright?”

He takes the items out of the bag to show Cas, and then, for a lack of things to do but unable to get up and leave, he starts ripping open the packages.

Cas’ eyes peek from above his nest, dark and blown wide. But they’re back to their usual blue, so that’s something.

“Also got you a fleshlight, and even a vibrator, if you feel fancy, alright?”

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs. He shifts a little, legs flexing, and Dean swallows thickly.

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

He gets up, moves towards the head of the bed, lining up the toys on Cas’ nightstand.

“There’s money, in my drawer, and I’ll transfer you the rest as soon as—”

“Don’t worry about that. Not right now.”

“Dean—”

Cas makes a move to sit up, and the sheet slides down, and Dean keeps his eyes trained on the wall. He shoves his trembling hands into his pockets.

“I got you your favourite pizzas, and a bunch of frozen meals, and a lasagna I had in my freezer.”

He grabs the bags again, this time pulling out a pack of Heat Gatorades and protein bars.

“Got plenty of food and stuff to drink, okay? Drink, eat, even if you don’t feel like it.” Dean keeps babbling, words stumbling out of his mouth, because when he’s talking he’s not thinking and that’s better for both of them. “All that slick’s gonna dehydrate you. I’ll be right downstairs. Text me when you want me to heat up something. If you don’t, I’ll do it anyway, gotta make sure you get your three meals a day. Okay?”

Cas nods. He moves, a little closer to the edge of the bed.

“How long is this gonna last?”

His voice already sounds strained.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, carefully approaching the bed again. “Heats usually last three to five days… but this is your first one. They’re usually the worst, even though you’re not a teenager. There’s really… no way to know.”

“Fuck.”

Cas growls, pressing his forehead into the bed, back arching, so close to presenting that Dean’s dick gives a valiant attempt to harden despite the downers. All the blood rushing south makes him dizzy, seeing stars for a minute. He starts backing away from the bed.

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas. I’ll be right downstairs—”

Cas lets out a pained noise, and Dean feels it too, this deep aching in his chest at the thought of leaving him.

“Can you — can you stay, for a few minutes? Just — until the next wave.”

Cas grabs a blanket and wraps it around himself, hiding his nakedness and turning to lay on his side, in a much less suggestive position. Dean breathes out, nods. He sits on the bed again, a little closer, and Cas closes his eyes when Dean’s scent surrounds him.

“Can you touch me?”

“Yeah.”

Dean hesitantly runs a hand through Cas’ hair, a little afraid of the reaction it’s going to get. But to his surprise, Cas immediately goes lax, _purring_, curling a little closer. Touching him does something to Dean, a bright contentment deep in his soul, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling his own body relax, too.

The last time he touched Cas like this — as in, the last time Dean reached out to him — was a year ago. The night they met. It didn’t end very well, and Dean hasn’t dared even a hand on his shoulder since then. It feels like a sacred privilege to touch him now, it feels like soothing a dull pain that has been throbbing in the back of his head for an entire year.

Dean pushes the sweaty locks out of Cas’ forehead, swiping away a bead of sweat. He should keep his touch light, but he can’t help threading his fingers deeper into Cas’ hair, fingernails grazing gently on his scalp. Cas shivers from head to toe, letting out a pleased little sound. Dean strokes circles with his fingers, moving down to the back of his neck, still massaging.

Cas’ eyelashes flutter, his cheeks tainting red — Dean can feel the heat rising underneath his skin, the sated omega scent in the room switching to something heavier, needier.

“Cas, I gotta—”

“You could stay.”

“Can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

His fingers are still tangled in Cas’ hair. He keeps telling himself he’s going to stop, rub one last circle at the base of Cas’ skull and pull away, but he doesn’t. It’s scary, how addictive such a small contact is, and only reinforces his decision to leave before it gets too far.

And yet.

“What if I want it?”

“You don’t. It’s just your heat messing with your head. You don’t even like me.”

“That’s not true.”

_It’s just the heat_, Dean chastises himself. Cas would say anything to get him to stay, right now.

“You ain’t thinking clearly,” Dean says, pushing the words through the lump of his throat. “You can’t consent to anything right now.”

“People have sex during heats and ruts all the time, it’s the whole fucking point.”

There's gold tainting the blue of Cas' eyes, looking up at him. It's such a sight.

“Except ideally they were able to consent _before_. They’re in relationships and they’ve talked about it before they lose their fucking minds.”

“That’s rarely how the world works.”

“Well, it’s how it should work.”

Cas makes a sound low in his throat.

“You’re really not making this easier.”

Dean can suddenly smell the scent of fresh, new slick, and it’s now or never — he tears his hand away from Castiel’s hair and stands up on wobbly legs.

Cas cries out in protest and buries his face into Dean’s flannel again.

“Try the toys, alright?” Dean’s voice is shaking, as he stumbles backwards until he reaches the door frame. “And text me when you’re done, so I can bring you something to eat.”

He slams the door shut and locks it again, running away before he can hear any sounds coming from the room.

Dean locks himself in the bathroom downstairs, as far away from Cas as he can, but it’s not enough. He’s still in his day’s worth of dirty clothes, he smells too much like Cas, and in spite of the downers he just can’t help the way his cock hardens. He can still hear Cas, far away and muffled, but more than that he can _feel _him.

Yearning. Wanting. Simple, rushed scent markings should not create these kinds of lasting effects.

Not unless… No. No, that’s not possible. They would know. Cas would know. Dean would _know_, right? Not that the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, with how much Cas has been on said mind, all the time. But that makes no sense, because if Cas was his true mate, they would _know_.

Cas wouldn’t have spent an entire year purposefully avoiding being alone with Dean if… they were. Right? And anyway, true mates are so rare, and most people go through their whole life without meeting theirs — so the chances that him and Cas are… It's almost impossible.

Better not think about it.

It’s just very difficult to keep that idea out of his mind when everything in Cas’ house feels like home. But they’re not true mates just because Castiel has the 14 seasons of Dr Sexy on DVD, neatly ordered in his tv cabinet. They’re not true mates just because Cas owns a ridiculous amount of very good coffee, or because there are vintage superhero posters on his wall, and an old comic book collection in his library.

He owns all of Dean’s favourite cowboy movies, along with a bunch he’s always wanted to watch, and _all _of Vonnegut’s work, and—

But this is not a fucking indie movie, they’re not going to fall in love just because they geek out about the same stupid stuff. Or because this house already feels like home. Even if the towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door smells like apple pie and vanilla ice cream and _happiness_, it smells like _mate _and _forever_ — shit, Dean really needs to stop smelling Cas’ towel. And stop rubbing his face on it.

Fuck. He’s marking again. Dean puts the towel down with shaky hands and it hurts inside to let it go. He wants to rub his cheeks all over the fucking house, on the rough wood of the old furniture, on the couch, on the corner of the plasma TV. He wants to go upstairs and rub his scent all over Cas’ bedroom until his bed reeks with it, he wants to rub his scent glands against Cas’ until they—

_Calm the fuck down, Winchester._

Dean takes a long, cold shower, both in the hope of clearing his mind and to stifle the sounds he can still hear coming from upstairs. Noises that sound a lot like Dean's name.

Despite the downers and the ice cold water, Dean’s erection only grows with every attempt at distracting himself. And he knows all too well that there’s only one way to make it go away.

He barely has to touch, one misguided thought about Castiel's lips and he's releasing himself down the drain, shower tiles hard and cold under his knees. He quickly washes the few splatters with the scent neutralizing soap he found in the cabinet. The last thing he needs is Castiel getting a whiff of his moment of weakness.

It would only make things worse for both of them.

Dean washes himself off thoroughly, hesitating before grabbing the scent neutral soap, not the neutralizing one. Cas might need his scent, although Dean still isn’t sure if it’s going to make things worse or better.

He knocks at Cas’ door half an hour later. He only stays there long enough to tell Cas that there’s pizza and waffle fries ready, unlocks the door, and then hurdles back down the stairs. He still doesn’t trust himself when it smells like Cas and orgasms.

Dean had left a whole bag of his clothes in Cas' bedroom, so Cas walks downstairs dressed in Dean’s shirt and sweatpants. The sight feels so close to a dream that tears well-up in Dean's eyes and be blinks them away. Cas is silent, cheeks red, avoiding Dean's eyes, and Dean mentally locks away the memories of hearing Castiel come _three times_ as Cas sits next to him on the couch. Just close enough that Dean can feel the heat of his body, but far enough that they don’t touch.

Dean feels a hollowness between his ribs, but he ignores it.

“Wanna watch something relaxing?”

Cas shrugs. He’s not eating, curled up with his knees against his chest.

“You gotta eat, Cas.”

No answer.

Dean reaches out, gently placing his palm on Cas knee. Castiel shudders, tension seeming to bleed out of him slowly as Dean rubs small circles with his thumb on his thigh.

Right, touch. Cas needs touch. Of course. Dean sits back, opening his arms, gently pulling at Cas until he’s pressed against Dean’s side. The change is immediate — Cas lets out a relieved sigh, turning to press his nose in Dean’s neck, arms and legs sneaking around him. His fist curls in Dean’s shirt, his body is a taunt, hot line against Dean’s side.

His scent switches from distressed to incredibly satisfied. Peaceful. Content.

Dean would’ve thought that any close proximity to Cas would set him on fire, that feeling him purr and touch like this would get him so riled up he’d lose control — but it’s closer to the opposite. As Cas grows more calm and content, so does he.

He wraps his arm around Cas’ shoulders, running his hand up and down his back — firm, warm, a little sweaty. His other hand grips on Cas’ thigh, keeping him close. He presses his lips to Cas’ temple, closes his eyes, and they breathe together for a while. Their scents respond to each other -- Dean's dark coffee roast, leather-bound books and crackling fire scent sweetened by Cas'. Both of them mixed together smells like a quiet afternoon of baking and reading in the sun, it smells like _home _so acutely that Dean's chest seizes a little.

The undercurrent of _want _is still present in both their scents but it’s not as urgent, not as important as the comfort they both feel.

After some time — ten minutes or half an hour, Dean can’t say — he gently squeezes Cas’ shoulder one last time, pressing a light kiss on his forehead. Both their stomachs are rumbling, it's way past dinner time.

Cas moves, stretching just enough to grab a piece of pizza, and then leans back against Dean, fitting against his body like he belongs there. They scroll through Netflix, lightly discussing shows they’ve both enjoyed. Unsurprisingly, they have very similar taste, and they end up deciding to watch the last season of_ Nailed It_.

Dean shoves food in his mouth with his left hand, suddenly realizing that he’s fucking starving. He went to the club directly from work, and it’s now almost midnight. The fingers of his other hand are running through Cas’ hair, over and over, like he’s done it a thousand times. The show is funny, he laughs, and Cas smiles, and that’s really something.

Three episodes later, the leftovers are discarded and Cas has almost climbed on Dean’s lap. It’s surprising that he’s lasted this long — almost an hour — without a new wave, but now his skin is getting hotter and he moves a little against Dean, almost grinding, nipping insistently at Dean’s neck. His hand runs up and down Dean’s chest, gripping, groping, pulling.

Dean grabs his wrist just before it gets too low. He can feel the arousal fogging Cas’ scent, and he struggles to keep his mind clear in spite of it. He’s getting better, though.

“Cas.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs, his breath hot on Dean's skin.

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t help it. I don’t want — but I need...” whatever word he was about to say turns into a growl, as he rubs his face in Dean’s neck.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean repeats, his heart sinking. He knew, he’s always known, but the reminder that Cas doesn’t actually want him still hurts like hell. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“_No_."

“Cas—”

“If we go upstairs, you’ll leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right down here—”

“It’s not enough. It’s not enough.”

Cas growls, impatient, angry, desperate. Dean pushes him away, getting up on his feet. His entire body is tensing, his cock filling up. He needs a downer, and a suppressant, and he needs a solid door between him and Cas.

But Cas smells like heartbreak, and his hands are shaking, and everything else fades away.

“Dean—”

Dean brings him up and into his arms, and Cas goes. He hugs Dean fiercely, almost painfully. Breathing heavily against his neck, he clings onto Dean for dear life.

“I hate this.”

“I know. And I know I’m not — I know you don’t like me. And I’m sorry that I—”

“That’s not true. I hate this, but I don’t hate you.”

Dean closes his eyes, squeezes him a little tighter. He wants that to be true more than anything.

Cas pulls back, just a little, and his lips hover just a little too close to Dean's. His eyes are dark, lidded, tainted with gold flecks. He smells like ice cream and sex, heady, overly sweet.

“Come on.”

Dean takes him in his arms— bridal style, only because it's the easiest way — and up the stairs. Cas wraps his arms around him, shudders, and buries his face in his neck. Dean’s not usually this strong, but he's rushing with alpha hormones and adrenaline. He drops Cas on the bed, ignoring the stains and the scent, and barely manages to get Cas to let go.

“Don’t. Please, Dean.”

“I’m gonna be right outside the door, okay? Right outside.”

Cas closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. He’s getting better at it too, already. He slowly untangles his fingers from Dean's shirt.

“Promise me.”

“I promise. Right outside.”

He kisses Cas’ forehead, slowly, and finally Cas calms down enough to loosen his grip.

Dean keeps his promise. At this point, he couldn’t leave if he tried. He ends up sitting against the door frame, cheek pressed against the solid wood. He can feel Cas, right on the other side.

“Dean?”

“Right here, buddy. ‘M right here.”

A sigh. A soft moan, and every hair on Dean’s body raises on its end.

Dean can’t resist much longer, not when Cas is _right there_ and smells like a dream. He lets the need and want overcome his senses. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. He’s not loosing control, not completely. He’s not ripping the door open and grabbing Cas and—

His pushes his palm down on his cock, quickly hardening in his loose pants.

“I need help,” Cas’ voice says. Dean can feel him, smell him. It’s more pungent than it was a moment ago, he’s taken off his clothes. Dean can scent his arousal, his slick, his precum — all distinct smells, that mix heavenly with his natural sweetness, adding another edge to it. He can scent desperation, want, need, shame.

For a second, Dean wonders if it’s normal that he can perceive such subtleties in Castiel’s scent — his moods, his feelings, in such details. He’s never been able to do that before with anyone, even when he was in a relationship.

“You don’t know how to masturbate?”

“Of course I know how to masturbate,” Cas grates, his voice low and rough.

“Sorry. I thought—”

“Asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction for other people. Not necessarily a lack of libido. I masturbate quite regularly.”

“Oh. Um. Good.”

Dean tries not to picture it and fails.

“But it’s not working. It’s not — it’s not enough, right now.”

“Cas, I can’t open this door.”

“I know.”

His voice is so strained, and fuck, it sounds so good. Dean bites his lip, on the edge of painful. He slips his hand down, wraps it around his cock. The pressure is heavenly. He almost chokes, trying not to make a sound, but it doesn’t matter — Cas can smell him.

“Oh,” Cas groans. “Dean. _Dean_—”

“I'm sorry—”

“No. No. Please, keep — more, please.”

Dean takes his cock out of his pants, knowing the scent of his arousal will waft under the door to a waiting Cas — and fuck, that’s so incredibly hot. He’s leaking at the tip, a new drop every time Cas makes a sound, every time he moves and grinds against the door.

“Fuck, Dean. _Oh_.”

Dean can only answer with a whimper. He can’t help it, he makes a tight fist around his cock and strokes, the pressure making his entire body shudder with pleasure.

“_Dean_—”

“Knot. Take a fake knot, Cas—”

He hears him scramble on the other side of the door. Then, the most delicious, most delightful sound Dean has ever heard; a deep, throaty, wanton moan as Cas starts to fuck himself. He didn’t pick a fake knot after all, Dean can hear the buzz of the vibrator; but from the way Cas is moaning and growling, it’s doing the job. Dean tries, and fails, not to picture it — Cas’ spread legs, his sweaty throat, his pink cheeks. His mouth open, wanting, his cock, hard, leaking. His wet hole, fluttering around the vibrator.

Dean wraps his hands around his very real knot and squeezes, fireworks exploding behind his eyelids.

“Dean. Dean. I—”

“I know, Cas.”

“_Dean_—”

He’s seconds from coming, eyes closed, picturing himself on the other side of the door, touching Cas, who keeps making those sounds, saying Dean’s name, like he he wants him. Like he really wants him.

“Dean, I need you, I need—”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you, I—”

Dean hears, feels, smells Cas coming. He shouts, and the scent of his release is so strong and pungent and intense that Dean comes too, immediately, all over his own fist. His back hurts from pressing against the frame and his legs are cramping and his hands are not nearly enough, but it’s still the best orgasm of his entire life.

He’s full of Cas, full of caramelized apples and sweet spices and golden baked crust — he inhales deeper with each breath, desperate to drown in it. His own pleasure stretches out, he shudders as Cas comes again, and again, and again, filling Dean’s ears with the sweetest of sounds every time.

Dean talks him through it, calls him sweetheart again. It just spills out, and every time Cas lets out a cry like he’s in pain, but Dean knows he’s not.

It takes them both a while to calm down, and even afterwards, sitting in silence, listening to Cas breathe, it's a moment that’s just too good to let go. Dean should do something — get up, clean himself, get away. But he can’t. He can’t move, can’t even take his wet sticky hand off his dick. He just lays there with his heated cheek against the wood, breathing in Cas, breathing in his pleasure, his satisfaction, his contentment.

It’s even more addictive than the scent of his come, of his slick, but he still breathes those in too, greedy, hungry.

“I don’t hate you,” Cas murmurs, from the other side.

Dean doesn't answer.

“I only came to the club to see you.”

Dean’s mind clears, slowly, finally. That makes no sense. Why would Cas do that? He might not hate him, but he certainly doesn’t like him.

“I hate loud music, and people, and dancing. But I hadn’t seen you in weeks, and…”

“But you don’t like me.”

Cas doesn’t answer.

“You avoid me all the time. You can’t even stand to be alone with me.”

“It’s not because I don’t like you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I like you too much.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. It makes no sense.

“You make me flustered,” Cas murmurs. “You make me lose my bearings. You… I get lost, when you smile at me. I can’t think about anything but you, and the way you laugh, and the stupid jokes you make, and I — I avoid being around you because I know that all I’m going to do is stare at you like a creep.”

Dean finally wipes his hand on his jeans and gets up. He wants to leave. He needs — he needs some time to think, about this, wrap his mind around what it means, but he can’t. He can only lean his forehead against the door, hands braced on the wood, breathing Cas in again.

Cas.

Cas, who likes him. Who likes him too much.

He can feel Cas moving away from the door and his heart sinks, stomach filling with ice. No. No, he needs — he wants — _no_.

His tightens his hands into fists. He can’t lose control, not now.

He wants to say things, but he doesn’t know where to fucking begin. He has to walk away. For now.

He gets cleaned up in the bathroom, but it’s not quite enough. He’ll need to change, but he can’t bring himself to go downstairs. The pain he feels inside, all the time, this hole in his chest, this emptiness, this aching — it’s not just his. It’s Cas’. He feels Cas’ yearning, too. And that’s…That’s something.

He knocks on Cas’ door, gently. The words are still jumbled in his mind, but he has to try.

The room is disgusting, the sheets covered in come and slick, and Dean’s pretty sure nothing is ever gonna be enough to clean his flannel shirt but he doesn’t really care. Toys are discarded, wet, slick, packages teared and thrown away. Cas is in the middle of the mess, Dean’s flannel bunched in a ball, his face buried in it.

“‘m sorry.”

Dean kneels next to the bed, facing him. He’s surprised by how much power he has over himself. The scent, the sights, should be driving him crazy right now. Yet he barely hears it, feels it. All that matters is Cas.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Cas mumbles.

“I want to. I have — I’ve got a lot to say. This whole time I thought — I thought you hated me. And I felt like an ass for…”

“For what?”

“For always bugging you. Wanting to be around you. Thinking about you all the fucking time. I only came tonight to see you, too.”

Cas shudders, breathes out. His scent unfurls in delicious waves of relief, content, _love_.

Dean moves to slide in the bed next to him, and Cas lets go of the flannel to bury himself in Dean’s arms. He’s still naked, haphazardly cleaned, and so warm against Dean that it should be a sin. But Dean can breathe, and maybe for the first time, the knot in his chest finally releases. He lets out a chuckle, a little choked up, a little bit deliriously happy. Cas’ skin is hot, wet under his fingers, muscles of his back rippling as he moves. He runs his palm up and down Dean’s side in a slow, lazy, intimate motion. It’s perfect.

Dean hazily thinks that they need to get cleaned up, drink some water, maybe change the sheets and make Cas a proper nest so he can hopefully get a restful night’s sleep. He’s going to do that, get up and take care of Cas, make sure he falls asleep surrounded by Dean’s scent, make sure he’s good, that he's happy.

He’ll do it. Any minute now, he’ll tear himself away from Cas, from their mixed scent, from their embrace. He'll do it right now...


	4. Chapter 4

Dean only realizes that they’ve fallen asleep when he wakes up, disoriented. It’s still pitch black but Cas is making sounds, pulling at him.

“Dean, you have to go. I — it’s starting again.”

Dean can smell it, and it hits him like a brick. Arousal so pungent his brain is drowning in it. He scrambles up.

“Are you — are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“In about three minutes I’m going to lose my mind and beg you to knot me, so if you — you have to go, now.”

Dean does. He looks back once before closing the door, golden light from the hallway illuminating the room. It’s still a mess, and Cas is a lonely figure in the middle of the bed, already whining at the loss of his mate. Dean’s jeans are still open, sticky. He can’t believe they fell asleep.

He shuts the door and moves, because he has to. He can’t stand here and listen to Cas come again and again; so he puts on music on his phone, to drown out the sounds, and he cleans himself up before hurrying downstairs. He updates as many of their friends' on the situation as he can before his eyes are burning and he can’t keep them open. He’s fucking exhausted, it’s almost 4am, but he doesn’t think he’ll fall asleep again. He’s too riled up, too — excited, exhilarated, _elated_.

Cas likes him. Cas likes Dean, not just because of his heat, he's liked him for a long time, and Dean feels bursts of happiness every time he thinks about it.

No, Dean certainly can’t sleep, especially not since he’ll need to get back up there as soon as Cas is done. But the house smells like Cas, and the couch is insanely comfortable, and Dean is just going to lie down for a minute...

He wakes up with a gaping hole in his chest. It’s hard to breathe. It all feels wrong. Something’s missing, something — Dean realizes where he is when he turns around and buries his face in the cushion, inhaling a lung full of _Cas_.

Cas.

The sun is barely risen above the horizon, the house bathed in soft morning light.

It’s much easier now than it was yesterday to enter Cas’ room — the scent hits him, of course, fresh release, omega slick everywhere, _mate in heat_. But Dean’s able to move past it with a surprising ease. Cas is curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, eyes closed, but he unfurls as soon as Dean approaches, hands grasping at Dean’s shirt until he falls forward.

They both let out a sound of relief when their bodies meld together, faces pressed into necks. Cas smells like sweat and is in desperate need of a shower, but he’s still the best thing Dean’s ever had wrapped in his arms. They rub against each other, renewing the mix of their scents, and Dean feels a deep growl of pleasure escape his throat.

He’s never felt like this before. Touching Cas feels like bringing the spinning world to a stop. Everything is so much clearer. Calmer. Quieter. It all kind of fades away, and Dean is left with nothing but bone-deep pleasure and contentment. 

Still, they both need to wash up, eat something, and finally make a nest out of this mess. Dean feels a caving in his chest every time he tries to move away from Cas. It’s much worse than before, now that he knows how Cas feels. How they both feel for each other.

“Gotta get you in a bath, come on.”

Cas growls when Dean tries to pull away, so they make their way to the bathroom with Dean walking backwards and Cas following, lips not leaving throats. Cas is getting very hot again, and Dean should probably leave him in his room, but he can’t bear the thought. Not again, not yet. Cas sits on the floor while Dean starts the bath, breathing hard, eyes closed, grip firm on Dean’s free hand. They never lose contact.

“Can I wash this?” Dean gently asks, trying to take the flannel that’s still in Cas’ arms.

Cas shakes his head. “No. Need — need your scent.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna take a bath, ‘m gonna do some laundry, we’re gonna make you a nice nest, okay?”

“Is it gonna smell like you?”

“Yeah. Brought stuff from home.”

“Good,” Cas sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “Will you stay with me? Until — until you have to go?”

“Yeah. Of course, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the fingers he’s holding, and Cas closes his eyes, almost smiling.

“You’re dirty too,” Cas states as he sits in the water. Dean doesn’t look. He still sees way too much, miles of tan skin, a couple tattoos, thick thighs that could probably crush his head like a watermelon...

“I—”

“I promise I won’t assault you. I just need… touch.”

“Yeah. Okay, I got you.”

Dean quickly swallows two downers and two suppressants, mentally preparing himself to be naked, while Cas is naked, in a warm and soapy bath. Fucking hell.

He feels self conscious for a moment as he begins to strip. But it’s not like Cas would be sexually attracted to him anyway, so he probably won’t mind the little pudge of his stomach, or the weird bow of his legs. It’s kind of a relief, in a way. Cas' blue eyes follow his movements and Dean feels the tip of his ears turning pink.

The water is perfectly warm when Dean gets into the bath, and fuck, it feels good. He opens his legs and lets Cas move in between, wrapping his arms around Cas’ middle and cradling him against his chest. Cas goes lax, turning his head so he can press nose against Dean’s throat, thumbs rubbing circles on the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean kisses the bend of his shoulder, gently nips and nuzzles against his skin. Cas’ skin tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg, and it's addictive. He feels so fucking good, with his mate in his arms, relaxed, content, purring. This is as close to perfection as life can get. Cas is smiling, really smiling, playing with Dean’s fingers. Dean kisses his temple, his cheek, his neck. Bites playfully at his neck, close to where a mark should be.

He doesn’t want to rush this, but something about this feels so fucking certain. They remain like that, in an embrace more intimate than any sex Dean’s ever had, for a long time. Faces into necks, skins pressed into each other, no idea where he ends and where Cas begins. Only warmth, and safety, and love.

Cas is hard, and as much as Dean tries not to look, it's right _there_. He’s not trying to be creepy, it’s just that the pink tip of Cas' cock peeks above the water, wet and glistening. The water is starting to smell like slick, arousal.

“‘M sorry,” Cas murmurs, hiding his face in Dean’s neck.

“It’s fine,” Dean chuckles. He’s careful with his touches, not too low. But he can’t help sliding a palm up Cas’ thigh, feeling the flex of the strong muscles there.

“I know this is wrong of me to do,” Cas says, but he doesn’t move. He probably can’t. Dean’s arm is solid around his stomach anyway.

“It’s okay, Cas. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind but you don’t enjoy it, either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your very soft cock, for starters.”

“Cas. Do you know how many blockers and suppressants I’m on right now? I’m three pills away from an overdose because otherwise I’d—”

“You’d what?”

Dean doesn’t say it, but he can feel they’re both thinking it.

“My rut was last week, so that helps, but… honestly, without them, I don’t know… I don’t know.”

Dean doesn’t want to think that he’d ever, ever hurt Cas. And he probably wouldn’t, but still. Better not take chances.

“Why are you taking them? I’m more than willing.”

“This isn’t how your first time should go. With a crazy rutting alpha with no self control.”

“You obviously have a lot of self control, and it wouldn’t be my “first time”.”

God, the way Cas makes those air quotes with his fingers is so fucking cute. Dean always thought so, but now he's allowed to let himself feel it. How much he likes every single thing about Cas, even the most ridiculous ones.

“I thought you'd never been in heat before,” he frowns.

“I haven’t, but I’ve had sex.”

“Oh.”

Dean isn’t sure if he’s… surprised, disappointed, worried? Not that he has any right to feel that way, but Cas is ace, isn’t he?

“Do you only have sex during ruts?” Cas asks him.

“No, but — I don’t know, I thought—”

“It may surprise you, but I’ve had quite a lot of sex. Not recently, but… for years, I — I tried everything I could. To figure out why I was the way I was.”

Dean swallows thickly, holding Cas just a little tighter.

“Why you didn’t have heats?”

“Why I barely got slick, why sometimes I could barely stay hard during sex. I had all the physical parts of an omega, slick glands and no knot. I wasn't a beta. I just thought there was something wrong with me. I went to doctors, some suggested hormones, but my levels were fine…”

“There's nothing wrong with you.”

Dean is getting angry, he can’t help it — the thought of Cas, misunderstood, alone, scared, is a painful stab in his chest.

“Everyone kept telling me I just hadn’t found the right person, or the right kink, so I… tried as many as I could,” Cas shrugs. “My parents fixed me up with every alpha they could get their hands on. They all thought they could fix me. I thought — I thought they could fix me. Until I didn’t want to be fixed anymore. I heard about asexuality and it just clicked. I stopped looking. I stopped trying.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs, kissing his neck. The fact that anyone, ever, would try to change Cas, fix him, is repulsive. Cas is perfect exactly the way he is.

“I hurt myself a lot," Cas adds after a short silence. He's playing with Dean's hand again, tracing the lines of it with his fingers, his voice low. "Believing them. Forcing myself to have sex when I — when I didn’t really want to, just because it’s what I thought I should do. Just to please my partners, just to… be normal. But everyone left anyway.”

“Anyone that’s ever made you feel like you have to have sex is a huge fucking dick," Dean growls through gritted teeth. "They didn’t deserve you.”

“Some of them — especially later on, when I was upfront about my asexuality from the start — really tried. They didn’t — pressure me, I just — I could see that it hurt them, me not wanting them that way. That they wondered if something was wrong with them. In the end, I’m the one who forced myself, just to appease… I don’t know. Appease them. Keep them happy. I’m the one who—”

“There was something wrong if you felt like you had to.”

Cas closes his eyes, shakes his head.

“We’re a very sexually driven specie. It’s not easy for most people to give up that part of their life.”

“Their fucking loss, then.”

To mark his words, Dean kisses the bend of Cas’ shoulder, holding him tighter for a moment. There’s bitterness in his throat, at the thought of what they did, of what Cas suffered, all those people who could have had him in their lives and let him go. But in a way, he’s grateful that they did. Because now Dean gets this, with him, and he’s not about to fuck it up.

“For what it’s worth,” Cas says a moment later, “I wouldn’t mind it if you were hard. I don’t want you to risk any health damage. And boners don’t make me uncomfortable.”

They've been in the water too long and it's turned lukewarm, less pleasant. They have to get out soon, so Dean washes Cas’ hair, massages his scalp, and Cas grunts in pleasure. He rubs soap all over Cas’ body, avoiding the dangerously enticing places. His skin is warm, his cheeks are pink, his eyes are soft as they look at Dean.

Dean wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t.

Cas gets dressed in Dean's clothes again, and he seems clear headed enough to help with the nest — although as soon as he holds a blanket Dean has brought from home, he buries his face in it with a deeply satisfied groan. Dean has to nudge him a few times to make him release it.

Soon they’re piling pillows, blankets, and comforters over the bed. Dean tries to arrange them in a circle, with space for two in the middle. He wants to make it perfect, but Cas is getting a little restless. He climbs on the bed and into the nest as soon as it’s finished, almost presenting, ass in the air, face down, grinding, moaning.

Dean swallows thickly.

“I’m gonna, uh—”

“Can you hand me a plug? The biggest one.”

Dean does, his palms clammy, his heart hammering.

“I’ll be right back.”

The only answer is a moan, but Dean is out the door, trying not to picture the way Cas’ ass would wrap around that thick plug—

“Dean?” Cas calls through the door.

“Yeah?" Dean grabs the bottle of suppressants, but puts it back down when he remembers what Cas said. And that it would truly be dangerous for him to take more right now. "Hungry? Need water?”

“Can you come here? I’m fine, I’m not going to attack you.”

Dean chuckles weakly. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas is in bed, under the covers, surrounded by the mounts of pillows and blankets. It makes Dean's heart ache with happiness and — love, maybe. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. His mate — Cas, Cas, in his nest, in _their_ nest. Hair mussed, cheeks pink. Smiling. The only thing indicating he’s got a plug in his ass is the wideness of his pupils and the sated satisfaction leaking through his scent. It mixes with the scent of Dean through the sheets and Dean feels dizzy.

“Could you cuddle me?”

Fuck. That’s the sexiest fucking thing anyone has ever said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Gonna get us something to eat, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas mumbles.

Dean takes a moment, downstairs, to gather his thoughts. He can still feel his body tingle with the memory of holding Cas, of his naked, wet body against his own. Of the happiness he felt, that he still feels.

Cas likes him, maybe even loves him.

Maybe they have a chance.

He almost runs back upstairs, placing the breakfast tray on the bed before climbing in, until he’s in Cas’ arm, until he’s all wrapped up around him, touching from head to toe. He buries his face in the space between their bodies. Everything smells like them, and Dean has never ever smelled anything as good as their combined scent. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, makes him feel like he’s flying.

Cas is so beautiful. He hasn’t shaved in days, cheeks permanently stained red from arousal. Eyes so fucking blue. Dean is rethinking his blue sheets now.

They eat breakfast with their legs tangled, talking about little nothings; music, movies, books, just filling the silence as well as learning more about each other. The two minutes that Dean takes to take the tray back downstairs feels infinitely long, and he’s relieved to be able to get back in the nest, in his mate’s arms.

Dean can’t help running his fingers through Cas’ hair, down his back, kissing his forehead, temple, nose, chin… He never ever wants to stop touching him. Never wants to stop looking into his insanely blue eyes. He wants to kiss him, but better not — he doesn’t trust himself completely yet. And he wants Cas to want it, too, and not just because of hormones.

No, when he kisses Cas — if he kisses Cas, if it’s something he’d want — then he’ll make sure the moment is perfect for both of them.

The sun reaches its peak in the sky, and then begins a slow descent. Dean brings them some re-heated take-out that they eat while watching the rest of _Nailed It_. They half doze off, another TV show playing quietly in the background. Dean expected more waves of heat to come, to have to leave, but Cas’ plug and Dean’s touch seem to be enough for now.

Until Cas’ scent turns sour. He’s had a thought, Dean can feel it, smell it — a bad thought. He’s tense, his face turned away, and there’s a subtle scent of rotten apples. A thought has disturbed this moment of peace, a thought that makes Cas anxious, uneasy.

“Cas?”

He doesn’t answer, only tightens his grip around Dean and hides his face in the pillow.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

Cas shudders every time Dean says that word. A full body shiver, and Dean wants to say it again and again, he would never say another word but that one if he could.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Dean frowns. Traces circles on Cas’ arm with his thumb.

“Hopes about what?”

“About us.”

Dean’s blood runs cold. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, tries to fight through the panic and keep talking.

“What do you mean?”

“I think we might be true mates.”

Cas’ voice is small, defeated.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Cas doesn’t answer. Dean can’t think properly, his heart hammering in his chest. No, it can’t be — it can’t be a bad thing, right? It can’t be — unless, unless —

“But you said — you said you liked me.”

“I do. Dean. I—” Cas gently lays a palm on Dean’s cheek, tender, but he won’t quite meet his eyes. “I much more than like you.”

That’s good, and Dean clings to that, as he clings to Cas, nuzzling against his palm.

“But I can’t give you what you need. Not — not everything you need. And one day that’s just not going to be enough, and with us being true mates, parting is going to be devastating in ways I can’t even—”

“Not enough? You’ll never be not enough for me, Cas, you’re everything I—”

“I’ve been through this before. I know how this ends.”

“Not with me.”

Cas looks down, eyebrows drawn close together.

“You need a real partner. A mate. A lover.”

“And you can be all of that.”

This time, Cas pulls away from Dean, his scent turning even more sour.

“You matter too much to me for me to — to ruin us, by attempting a relationship that will inevitably fail, either from the lack of sex or me forcing myself into it.”

Dean swallows down the bile crawling up his throat.

“That’s not what I meant. I would never — _ever _want to have sex with you when you don’t want to, Cas.”

“What if I never want to?”

Dean makes sure to think about it — really think about it, about never ever making love with Cas, about never having sex with anyone ever again. About a lifetime of lonesome ruts, of his own hand as sole release.

He thinks about a lifetime of Cas, of this — of holding him, touching him, scenting him. About making a home together, that smells like them, about endless nights of watching cooking shows huddled close, naps in the afternoon with Cas in his arms, holding his hand while walking down the street. A lifetime of hearing Cas’ laughter every single day. Sharing all the highs and lows of his life, _forever_.

There’s no question, sex doesn’t even compare to that. To this, just this, laying in each other’s arms. Dean would’ve never admitted it before, but the after — the cuddling, the talking, the silences — it’s always been his favourite part.

He realizes he’s been thinking for several minutes. Cas is still looking down, and his scent shows a mix of fear, pain, and acceptance. Like he knows what Dean’s going to say — except he doesn’t.

“Then we never have sex.”

Cas seems to ponder Dean’s answer. His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, he nibbles on his lower lip. Dean registers every little gesture and expression, so hungry that he is to know everything about Cas. Hungrier now that he fears that this is all he’ll get, this few stolen days before Cas decides he’s not worth it.

“How can we be mates, if we’re never lovers?”

Dean thinks about it for a moment, his fingers distractedly rubbing circles in Cas’ hip.

“We can be mates, and we can be lovers. Lover is about being in love. Some people use it differently, but _lover _is about… love. We don’t need sex for that, I don’t need sex to...” Dean takes a deep, steadying breath. “To fall in love with you. I’m pretty much there already.”

Dean never says it first. He never says it at all. He made the mistake of saying it to Cassie, all those years ago, and she left him to go to college and never looked back. He came close to it with Lisa, but never quite could get there, and maybe that was their downfall.

And maybe he shouldn’t be saying this right now, because they’re not even — Cas hasn’t said yes. Certainly hasn’t said love. But Dean is tired of being scared. And for the first time in his life, he’s certain of how he feels, of what he wants.

“You don’t even know me,” Cas murmurs. But the rotten scent has disappeared, and Cas smells all sweet again.

Dean cuddles closer, nose in his neck, inhaling deeply.

“I know enough. And I want to know more. I want to know everything about you.”

“I want to know everything about you, too,” Cas says, hiding his face, like it’s a secret.

“Tell me things,” Dean murmurs. He strokes his fingers behind Cas’ ear, following the curl of hair that he likes so much. That he loves, maybe. “Tell me things about you.”

“Like what?” Cas grumbles.

“Anything. Anything you want me to know.”

Cas sighs, a little dramatically.

“I’ve watched pretty much all the cooking shows that have ever existed, but I can’t cook for shit.”

Dean snorts.

“I’ll teach you.” His fingers now follow the sharp cut of Cas’ cheekbone. “What else?”

“I’m not a morning person. I’ve considered murder several times when people have attempted to talk to me before my coffee.”

“Noted.”

The silence is more comfortable now. The sun is setting on the horizon again, and Dean is quietly content. He should probably go get them some food, but this is a nice moment, and he doesn’t want it to be over yet. They’re facing each other on the bed, huddled close; it’s comfortable, soft clothes, hum of the TV, heads barely peeking above the covers.

“I read a lot of erotic literature,” Cas murmurs a few minutes later.

Dean hides his smile in the crook of Cas’ neck. “Really?”

“Yes. I have a whole stash in my bedside table.”

“Fanfics?”

“Those too.”

“Mmh. Gonna have to give me some recs.”

Dean feels Cas’ smile against his skin, and another moment passes. It’s heavier, though, because he can feel that Cas wants to talk some more, but is searching for the right words.

“I enjoy masturbating. I have — I have a libido, although it’s quite… unstable. I can go months without thinking about sex sometimes. I've masturbated five times in one day, once. I do love orgasms. It’s very good for stress relief. It’s hard for people to understand that I can masturbate and be… “horny” without wanting to have sex.”

It’s also hard to stop touching Cas, when his t-shirt is so soft, and the skin so warm underneath. Dean’s left arm is falling asleep under the weight of Cas’ shoulder, but he doesn’t want to move.

“Have you ever really wanted to have sex? With someone?”

“Yes. I like bringing my partners pleasure, I like sharing that kind of intimacy, although I need an emotional bond to even consider any kind of sexual relationship. It’s not that I don’t like sex, it’s just… most of the time, even with the right person, it’s overwhelming. It’s too much. It’s too… intense. And I never know beforehand if it’s going to be good or…”

Dean gently kisses Cas’ forehead, trying not to think of all the things implied by the end of that sentence. If he does, if he does allow himself to think about that, he’s not sure he’s going to make it out alive.

“I don’t look at people and think: I want to fuck them. Ever. At most, I’ve thought, I’d like to make them feel good, bring them pleasure, because I love them. Or I’m horny and… sometimes, I like to share that feeling. I like the emotional connection that comes from making love. But it’s not so much the sex as the physical intimacy. Most of the time, I’d rather just cuddle.”

“Like this?” Dean brings Cas even closer, fitting their whole bodies together from head to toe.

“Yes,” Cas grins. “Like this.”

Their scents meld together perfectly. Dean always found his own scent a bit rough around the edges — his dark, bitter coffee, mixed with the scent of leather and old bound books is definitely not to everyone’s taste. But Cas seems to like it very much, and together they smell like an afternoon eating pie and drinking coffee by the fire in an old library, and Dean can’t imagine a better scent.

“Gotta agree,” Dean murmurs, running his nose up and down Cas’ neck, gently nibbling around his scent glands. “This is pretty damn perfect.”

Cas smiles, and yeah. This is perfect.

They manage to get downstairs to eat about an hour later, but immediately huddle close on the couch once they’re done. Cas still hasn’t gotten a new wave of heat, or at least not strong enough that Dean’s touch couldn’t soothe it back down. Dean can’t believe how right the girl at the store was — Cas needs touch, reassurance, and scent-bonding much more than he does sex, as it turns out.

It’s not something that’s talked about, ever, not in school when they learn about heats and ruts, not on TV, not in books. It’s all about sex, all the time, knotting and release being the only things said to make heats and ruts pass without discomfort. Sex is the start and end of it all — life, happiness, mating, love. Or so they say.

It's kind of a relief to realize that it's not true. Dean likes sex, he likes it a lot. He's spent most of his life seeking it out, because it was the only form of intimacy that didn't feel dangerous. It never felt enough, though, never quite satisfied him. He thought for a long time that there was something wrong with him, that it was all he was good for, all anyone could ever want him for.

Dean can’t help but be drawn to Cas’ lips. Plush, pink, soft, a little shiny from licking them. He wonders what it would be like to kiss them. He wonders if that’s something Cas would even like — he should probably ask before he starts fantasizing about it.

He ponders that as they make their way back upstairs, brushing their teeth, shoulders brushing and exchanging toothpaste smiles in the mirror. It feels intimate, it feels normal, and it makes Dean’s stomach flutter with butterflies.

He finally makes up the courage when they’re cuddled back in their nest, changed into fresh pairs of clothes for sleep. Cas took his plug out while Dean locked himself in the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He hasn’t jerked off since yesterday and it’s starting to get to him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What do you like, when you’re not in heat?”

“Sexually?”

“No, um. Like. I know you said you liked cuddling, but do you like to kiss?”

Cas’ eyes flicker down to Dean’s lips.

“Yes.” His blue gaze slides back up, a little darker. “I love touching, kissing, and I enjoy skin to skin contact. I don’t… I haven’t been able to experiment with much physical intimacy outside of sex. People usually assume that a certain kind of kiss, or nakedness, are inevitably leading to sexual intercourse. I just learned to avoid them so I wouldn't give anyone the wrong idea.”

“We’ll have to remedy to that, then.”

Cas raises his eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

Dean slides his hands underneath Cas’ shirt, feeling his heated skin, goosebumps rising underneath the path of his fingers.

“Won’t it be terribly sexually frustrating for you?” Cas asks, but despite his hesitation he shifts closer to Dean, his own hands sneaking underneath Dean’s shirt.

“Nothing frustrating about touching you, Cas.”

Cas breathes against his neck, pulls his shirt up a little more, and Dean takes it off, chuckling. He helps Cas out of his clothes, too, and they both sigh in relief when they press close again, this time without the barrier of clothes. Dean wonders why they’ve spent so long cuddling clothed, when they could’ve been doing this naked the whole time.

Of course, it’s not doing _nothing_ to him to have the man he loves (yes, loves, damn it) naked in his arms. Cas is so damn gorgeous, it kind of hurts. The scruff down his neck is delicious underneath Dean’s lips. And the _scent_. It’s like shoving his face into a warm apple pie, swirls of spices and dark caramel, the gentler scent of vanilla, flaky buttery pastry.

Dean gets a bit lost in it, rubbing his nose and his cheeks over and over against Cas’ neck. It’s a soothing motion, Cas’ hands gently stroking through his hair, and soft purring sounds rolling out of his chest. Dean’s hard, a little wet at the tip, rubbing in the crease of Cas’ thigh. Maybe he should’ve taken a downer and a suppressant. It’s not uncomfortable, he doesn’t mind, but the last thing he wants is to make Cas uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the skin of Cas’ neck.

“I don’t mind.”

Cas’ skin is growing hotter with every brush of Dean’s fingers, the air filling with the scent of slick. Dean hasn’t taken suppressants or downers in a while, so he’s surprised at how calm he feels — despite his erection — and how calm Cas seems to be, too. He’d almost forget Cas is still in heat, if it wasn’t for the _need_ in his scent. But it’s quieter now, not as strong as the smell of pure, deep satisfaction.

It flows through Dean, too. Of course he thinks about it — it’s hard not to, with Cas’ entire body etched under his palms, pressed against his front, thick thighs, the sharp jut of hip bones fitting in Dean’s palm. It’s impossible not to think a little bit about how it’d feel to get Cas’ taste on his tongue, to get his lips wet with slick; he could just shift a little and slide inside of Cas, bury himself to the tilt. Of course he thinks about it, about the sounds Cas might make, the way he might say Dean’s name in a moment of ecstasy.

Dean wonders, and he wants, but it’s not painful, or pressing. It’s actually a very nice feeling, to want, even knowing it’s not going to happen. He likes to want, he likes to desire, and this — laying here with Cas in his arm, breathing slowly, Castiel’s heart beating right against his own — it’s more than enough. In fact, it’s everything.

He presses his lips more insistently on Cas’ skin, unable to resist. He wants more of his taste, wants the hint of cinnamon and nutmeg on his tongue. Cas is hard too, but Dean is careful not to move too much down there — the least thing he wants is for Cas to think that he’s trying to get laid. Truly, he just wants this, nothing more and nothing less. He bites playfully at the softer skin of Cas’ throat, nosing up the rougher hair underneath his jaw.

Cas is still purring, eyes half closed, dark and warm. Dean pulls away a little, just to stroke his cheek with curled fingers and watch Cas’ lips stretch into a lazy smile.

Perfection, Dean thinks for the hundredth time.

“Are you good?” Cas asks, voice low and rumbly.

“Yeah. Pretty damn good. You?”

“Yes.” Cas’ answer is punctuated by a trail of kisses along Dean’s collarbone. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

“I don’t want you to get knot-tied.”

Dean snorts. “Dude. That’s just some bullshit knotheads came up with to guilt people into sex. I promise you, I’m not going to be in pain from us not having sex.”

“Promise?”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah. I promise. And I can always go masturbate in the shower if it gets unbearable.”

Cas seems satisfied with that answer.

“Are you going to think about me?”

“Would it be weird if I did?”

Cas touches his heated cheeks, smiles. “No. I might... think about you from time to time when I touch myself.”

“Yeah?”

It’s Cas’ turn to blush. There’s a lot Dean could say — and he can’t deny the delicious twirl of warmth and arousal tugging at his lower stomach — but he needs Cas to know that he’s not, as Cas would say, _getting his hopes up_. He knows that it doesn’t mean Cas will ever want to have sex with him, and frankly, he couldn’t care less right now. It’s not what he hopes for.

“I don’t necessarily think about us having sex,” Cas clarifies after clearing his throat. “Lately, yes, of course, the thought has come up due to my heat, but — before that, it’s not — it’s not really what I usually think about.”

“What do you think about, then?” Dean asks, his voice soft.

Their noses are brushing, he feels Cas’ breath on his mouth every time he speaks.

“I think about this.” Cas’ gaze flicks down to where their bodies feel like one. “I think about touching you. Scenting you. About sharing intimacy with you, in all of its forms.”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

Cas looks down, bites on those goddamn sinful lips like he knows what it does to Dean.

“Yes,” he murmurs, looking up through his lashes. “All the time.”

“Fuck.” Dean licks his lips, lets out a little whine. “I can’t wait for your goddamn heat to be over.”

Cas tenses in his arms, his scent shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. It’s incredible, Dean thinks, how attuned he is to Cas already, how he can scent and _feel _every shift in his moods. It’s so intense, much, much more than Dean ever imagined true mates bonds to be.

“I just meant — because I really, really wanna kiss you right now. And I can’t.”

There he goes, smelling sweet again. Cas smiles at Dean, crinkles around his eyes, dimples on his cheeks.

“You can.”

“No — you know why we can’t, Cas.”

It’s hard not to smile when Cas smiles, and it’s hard not to want when Cas wants.

“I’m level headed, between two waves, I’m not losing my mind, and I think you should kiss me.”

“Cas—”

“Dean. Kiss me. Please.”

With those words spoken so softly against his lips, Dean is too weak to resist.

It’s perfect, and there is no other word to describe it. It’s like everything in Dean’s life has led him to this moment, to this man, in his arms, to those lips, against his. Warmth spreads through his veins, his stomach explodes in a thousand butterflies. He feels like he’s floating above the bed, giddy, overwhelmed, and that Cas is floating along with him — he can feel his gorgeous smile against his lips, can feel the joy bubbling inside them both.

He sneaks his hand up and gently cups Cas’ face, keeping the kiss soft and slow, because he needs it. He needs to register every brush of their lips, every flick of their tongues, he needs to burn into his brain the way Cas tastes — a little bit like he smells, but spicier, the nutmeg and cinnamon more pronounced. It’s an addictive taste, an addictive touch, one he can’t imagine ever going without again.

It’s Cas who deepens the kiss, whining low in his throat, nails raking through Dean’s hair. Delicious shivers are running up and down Dean's spine, and his mind clears out of any doubt, fear, or pain. He kisses Cas like he’s starving, he kisses him like he’s drowning, he kisses him like Cas is the only thing keeping him alive, and Cas kisses him back and arches against him and begs for _more_.

Sweet slickness fills the air with a mouth-watering scent, their bodies move as one, in a naked embrace that’s way past innocent. Cas’ hands are digging bruises in his skin, he makes sounds low in his throat, his entire body grinding into Dean’s. The mixing of their scents is on a whole new level now, arousal predominant, dark notes of coffee in Dean’s, tooth-rooting sugariness from Cas’.

Time stops ticking. Dean stops thinking. He rolls on top of Cas, bracketing his face between his hands so he can kiss him harder, so he can taste him deeper. He feels all the shape of him, he trails kisses down to Cas’ chin, neck, biting, sucking, _harder_, but Cas drags him up to his lips again. It’s too easy to get lost in this. There’s wetness against his thighs between Cas’ open legs, and he wants to taste it, he wants to feel it, he wants, he wants, he _wants_—

Arousal thrums like hot oil in his veins, and Dean can feel himself sinking, quicksand gripping around his body, and he only has two choices, drown or run.

He runs. He tears himself away in one surge as his eyes go red. It’s all he can do, he shoves Cas away with a pained growl, and the rest is a blur, scrambling to get up, to run away.

The door slams close behind Dean and he just collapses on the floor, breathing heavily. His mind is _screaming_. It cries out and screams and his thoughts feel like nails raking along the walls of his mind, pounding, pounding, _wanting_, except not in the way it did before. No, this is much darker. It’s the want of letting go, of losing control, of taking, it’s a want much older and dangerous, and Dean would rather die than let it take over.

He drags himself to the bathroom, on his knees. He can’t feel much except pain. His entire body is begging to get back in, to get back to Cas, it hurts, it hurts so much he can barely breathe, his ribs a vice grip around his lungs.

He gets to the bath. Wraps a hand around his knot and squeeze, strokes, he thinks of Cas, he thinks of home, he thinks of the blanket on the couch and the nest they’ve made. He thinks of Cas’ mouth, of his skin under Dean’s lips. He grabs the closest thing he can reach — a heap of dirty clothes by the hamper, he buries his face in them and inhales _Cas_, and comes with a broken cry.

It’s powerful, but unsatisfying. Not the orgasm, exactly, because it fucking obliterates him again. Waves of pleasure crash through his whole body over and over, he comes and comes and sobs into that stupid t-shirt that smells like his love.

But the pain doesn’t go away. It only gets worse. Dean can’t breathe besides a small trickle of air, burning through his throat. His legs and arms are shaking uncontrollably, and it _hurts_. It hurts in his chest, it hurts in his stomach, it hurts in his _mind_. He’s never in his life experienced anything quite like it, and he doesn’t understand. He can’t even begin to wrap his head around the pain, running hot and cold water on his body in an attempt to regain some kind of calmness, but nothing works.

Until he realizes that he’s not the one in pain. This isn’t _his_ pain, he only feels it because—

_Cas._

He’s not sure how he makes it back to the bedroom, only that the door slams so hard against the wall when he shoves himself into it that the whole house lets out a protesting crack. Cas is on the bed, face down, panting, trembling, sobbing. The entire room smells burnt, rotten, it makes Dean’s mouth pasty and his lung fill up with bitter smoke.

His own pain shrinks at the sight of Cas’, until he feels nothing but his mate’s distress. He can’t even feel his own body but he makes it to the bed, kneels, grabs, pulls at Cas. His face is streaked with tears, eyes wide and lost, breathing harsh and quick. Dean pulls him into a crushing embrace, grasps at every bit of him he can reach. His skin is cold, even if it makes no sense, his chest is choked by sobs. He wraps trembling limbs around Dean, tries to say his name, but Dean shushes him, burying his face in Cas’ neck.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, I’m so sorry, I’m here,” he repeats, like if he says it enough times, it’s going to fix it.

It’s a little easier to breathe now, but Cas’ pain is still overwhelming, and Dean's own shame and guilt aren’t helping at all. He never should have left, that was the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

He holds him close, holds him tight, but it doesn’t stop, Cas is almost hyperventilating. Dean kisses every bit of his face, even his lips, cold against his own. Cas tries to kiss back, but he can barely hold on, the tremors shaking his entire body.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, it's okay sweetheart,” Dean repeats as lies them down on the bed, pining Cas under him again. He shoves his face in Cas’ neck and rubs, marks, claims. “I’ve got you, omega-mine, I’ve got you, I’m here.” His own voice is rough and shaky, but it seems to help. Cas grips him more firmly and starts rubbing back, tears from his cheeks wetting Dean’s neck.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he manages to croak out. Dean lets his body weight Cas down, because pressure always helps, and then he kisses him deep, salty taste of tears between their lips. Cas responds like he’s starving, and he _is_, Dean knows, because he’s a fucking idiot.

Dean said all those things and kissed Cas, got him all riled up with heat hormones, and then just fucking ran out like an asshole. He only thought about himself, about losing control; he didn't think about Cas, Cas who’s in heat and in need and with completely uncontrollable hormones coursing through his veins. Of course Cas dropped. And omega drops are the worst ones, everyone knows that. Abandoning an omega in heat, _especially _after scent and emotional bonding — the build up of hormones suddenly dropping can cause intense physical and emotional pain. And Dean did that to Cas.

And he’s going to wallow in shame and guilt about it later, he’s going to hate himself a whole lot for it, too, but now’s not the time. He needs to take care of Cas, he needs to make it right.

He can’t undo what he did, he can't take it back, and he’s not going to fucking mate him right now without his consent, but he can trick Cas’ body into believing he’s about to. He opens his mouth against the bend of Cas’ neck, nibbles, sucks, licks, leaving little red marks all over his throat.

He bares his fangs and grazes over Cas’ skin again and again, biting lightly in his mating spot, hard enough to feel but not to break skin. Cas goes lax, finally, just goes completely loose under Dean, nails faintly grazing around his shoulders. He moans and bares his throat, pulling a little at Dean’s hair. Dean kisses every mark he made, before going on to new ones. Cas’ neck and shoulders will be covered in small bruises tomorrow and Dean can’t help the strong, stifling wave of love and possessiveness at the thought. It’s almost strong enough to make him forget that he did this.

The room fills with sweetness again, with Cas, with _them_, relief and love and just the faint under-scent of fear, but Dean does everything he can to kiss it away.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” he murmurs between two kisses. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so—”

“Stop. Kiss me.”

Dean does. He kisses him like it can make up for it. He kisses him like he can be forgiven.

“Dean.”

It’s wet between their mouths again, but it’s not Cas’ tears anymore.

“This goes both ways,” Cas gently growls. “I can feel what you feel. I need you to stop feeling like this.”

“I never shoud’ve — I shouldn’t —”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It’s not true, Dean knows, it’s not true because he could feel it, he could _feel _the way Cas felt because of him, how much he hurt because of what he did.

“Look at me, alpha-mine.”

That does it; Dean’s bones turn into jelly, his entire body loosens, and he can’t but obey that order.

Cas’ eyes are deep blue, red-rimmed, but he’s smiling. He looks wrecked, and his neck is covered in purple marks, and his hair is in disarray from being pulled at, but he looks _soft_. He looks okay.

“I’m okay, Dean.” He’s the one kissing Dean now, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his fluttering eyelids. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Dean sighs, finally lets himself sag on top of Cas. It feels like he weighs a thousand tons, but Cas holds onto him tight, not letting him move.

“So that’s what a drop is,” Cas murmurs, after several minutes of slowly running his hands up and down Dean’s back.

“Yeah.”

Dean tries not to let the guilt overwhelm him, just so Cas won’t have to feel it. He deserves better than that.

“Has it ever happened to you?”

“Yeah.”

Alpha drops aren’t as intense as omega ones, and Dean’s never had a true mate run out on him during rut, so it’s it’s not really comparable.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, still, kissing Cas’ lips over and over in small, chaste, but reverent kisses.

“It’s okay. Thank you for coming back.”

Finally, they are at peace again. The room is lit by the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp, and they’ve been curled up around each other in near silence for almost an hour, when Cas speaks again.

“I think I need to, um. Release myself.”

“Pee?” Dean asks, half-lifting himself up from where his head was resting on Cas’ chest.

“No. The, um. The other kind.”

“Oh.”

Dean was half-asleep, not realizing that Cas’ cock has been insistently pushing against his thigh, smearing it with precum. Now that his nose isn’t buried in Cas’ skin, he realizes the room smells like arousal, like slick drenched sheets. He doesn’t drive him crazy like it might have at any other time.

His earlier orgasm, as ill-timed as it was, did offer him some release. Still, his dick fills up quickly as they begin to move, watching Cas’ cock bob and the wet spot on the sheets under him. Dean licks his lips subconsciously, and looks up to find Cas observing him, fist loosely wrapped around his erection.

Dean moves further away, clearing his throat, pretending to look for clothes to keep his hands occupied.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

“No, it’s fine, I can just—”

“Could you come with me?”

“That’s not — that’s not a good idea, Cas—”

Cas comes up to him and gently puts a hand on his arm. Not overtly intimate, just a grounding touch, as Dean keeps looking away. Cas smells _so fucking good_, it’s really not fair that he can’t touch him right now.

“I was thinking that I could masturbate in the bath, and you could sit on the other side of the curtain, holding my hand.”

Leave it to Cas to say that so casually, like he’s talking seating arrangements, not fucking ways to masturbate together without really masturbating together.

Dean still follows Cas to the bathroom, because he’d fucking follow him anywhere. He’s got some really pretty flower tattoos that Dean can’t stop staring at, as well as a few geeky ones they really need to talk about.

The bathroom still stinks of Dean’s earlier release, haphazardly cleaned up, and Cas stops in his track and moans when they reach it. He steadies himself with one hand on the door frame, head bowed, and Dean can _see_ glistening slick running down his legs. He stands as far away as he can, clutching Cas’ hands alternating between breathing through his nose and mouth — both are just as bad in their own way.

Cas sits in the bath and Dean draws the curtain close. It’s really weird. Dean can’t see him, but their fingers are linked over the edge of the bath, sitting face to face but separated. He hears Cas put in his plug, the wet sound of it, the moan falling from his lips. Dean tightens his grip and shudders. His own cock jerks, leaks.

“You can — you can masturbate also, if you want,” Cas says, his voice lower, rougher.

It’s strange. Dean never thought he’d one day find himself here, sitting on a cold tile floor next to the person he loves, listening to them fall apart. He’d never thought he could have such mind blowing orgasms this way, either.

This orgasm is much, much better than the previous one.


	5. Chapter 5

After a shared shower and kissing until the water runs cold, they get back in bed, settling for — hopefully — the night. But despite the late hour, neither of them are tired enough yet, and there are burning questions on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

“So, when did you start liking me?”

“The moment I met you.”

“C’mon, Cas.”

Dean remembers their first meeting acutely, and Cas certainly didn’t like him then. Dean’d been under Cas’ spell since the moment they were introduced, at Charlie’s birthday party. He was mesmerized by everything about Cas. His eyes, his face, his voice, his smile. Every word out of his mouth, Dean drank them up, all of his stupid jokes cracked him up. He couldn't tear himself away.

But he had to, because following Cas around the room would've been really creepy. There was something between them, Dean could feel it. The night felt like a dream. Cas looked at Dean a lot, their eyes kept meeting from across the room, and every time Dean's heart skipped a beat. They kept gravitating towards each other, ending up in the same circle. Dean felt struck by something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

They sat on the couch together. Cas’ cheeks were flushed, his voice a little uneven, but his eyes were warm. Dean put his arm on the back of the couch. They were moving closer. They were talking, about everything and nothing.

Dean barely remembers. He was entranced. His heart was beating out of his chest with every inch his fingers got closer to Cas’ neck. Finally, he dared.

He brushed his fingertips on the nape of Cas’ neck. The skin was warm, smooth, perfect; the touch electrifying. Dean thought this was it — the moment. Cas shivered, eyes half closed, gasped. For a moment, it was perfect.

But then Cas got up, teared away from Dean’s touch. Dean called after him, but to no avail — he ran out of the room, tripping on his feet, bumping into friends. Dean followed, he couldn’t let him go, he didn’t understand; he’d done something wrong, he had to apologize.

He made the mistake of grabbing Cas’ shoulder. Cas shoved him back, violently, Dean’s breath punched out of him when he hit the wall.

Before he could blink, Cas was gone, front door slammed.

They never talked about it again. Not really. Cas apologized, the next time they saw each other. He wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes, his tone was curt. Dean tried to tell him, tell him he was sorry, tell him he should’ve never touched him, tell him it was all his fault — but Cas wouldn’t hear it. He was so stern, so serious. He refused to let Dean say a word. He apologized again, and asked if they could forget about it.

Dean could never forget about it. Especially not since Cas never looked at him again, at least not when Dean was looking. He avoided being alone with him like the plague. Dean thought for a whole year that Cas hated him, resented him, just plain disliked him. That he never really forgave Dean for daring to touch him.

Now Dean is touching him, a lot, their legs intertwined, Cas’ palm laying flat over his heart. Cas likes him, and he’s touching him, won’t let go of him.

“I mean it, Dean. The moment I saw you, I… I got these butterflies in my stomach, and it felt like — like something in the world had shifted. And I knew it was dangerous, for me, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be near you, I wanted to know you.”

“Then I touched you,” Dean murmurs. He’s still feeling an unsettling amount of guilt about it.

“Then you touched me.”

“I messed up.”

“That wasn’t the problem,” Cas tells him, forcing Dean to look at him with a finger under his chin. “When you touched me, the way it felt, it — I’d never felt that before. It was so intensely physical, and I didn’t know — I just panicked.”

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. He knows Cas can feel it — how it hurts, to hear that. And he can feel Cas hurting, too. It’s unsettling, intense, their emotions feeding off of each other, both positively and negatively.

“Did you, um, did you know we were true mates?

“No. But I — the thought crossed my mind, and it’s one of the reasons I was so… cold, to you. I had to — I had to keep you away if that was the case.”

There’s a stabbing pain in Dean's chest, unlike any pain he’s known before. Cas knew. This whole time, Cas knew, and Cas didn’t want him.

“I wasn’t sure,” Cas adds, like he can read Dean’s thoughts. “I hoped — I hoped I was wrong.”

Despite how much it hurts to pull away, Dean does. He gets out of the bed, of their nest, he can’t breathe. Cas scrambles up after him, as Dean swaggers into the hallway, blinking in the sudden light.

“Dean—”

“No. I — I get it.”

Of course, of course Cas didn’t want to be his true mate. Of course he didn’t want any of this. How could he think that someone like Cas could ever want him this way? What a fucking disappointment it must’ve been for Cas to realize that he was stuck with Dean as a true mate. Stuck liking him, wanting him, despite himself. No wonder he didn’t say anything, no wonder he wished to be wrong.

Cas grabs him by the arm, turns him around. Dean doesn’t want to, but the touch of his mate is too powerful to pull away again.

“Dean. I didn’t want to be your true mate because I — I didn’t want to do that to you. You’re an incredible person, and I can’t bear the thought of hurting you like that.”

“What are you talking about? Cas—”

“I don’t know you nearly as much as I want to,” Cas interrupts, looking determined. Dean doesn’t speak again, because Cas’ words seem carefully chosen. “But if I know one thing, is that you have an incredible capacity to love those around you, shamelessly, completely.” A small smile plays on Cas’ lips, and the adoration in the blue of his eyes make Dean feels like he’s freefalling. “I’ve seen the way you love your friends, your family. I’ve seen your unwavering loyalty and devotion to those lucky enough to have a place in your heart. And I could only imagine how much you’d love a mate, and— ”

Cas is cut off by Dean grabbing him and pressing a burning kiss on his lips.

“Then let me. Let me show you.”

Cas’ fingers are trembling around Dean’s face. Tears well-up in his eyes.

“I’ve dreaded meeting my true mate ever since I realized there was something wrong with me, and for it to be you—”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Dean growls, pulling Cas close in a bone-crushing hug. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you.” He repeats it, and he’ll say it every day, every hour if he has to, he’ll repeat it to Cas until it makes its way through that beautiful, thick skull of his. “I just want you to give me a chance, please.”

Cas relaxes in his arms and hugs him back, nosing at his neck, breathing him deep. He lets Dean kiss him, over and over again, until the terrible dreading feeling disappears, until they both stop shaking, until all there’s left is appeasing each other with touch and scent. They find their way back to the bed.

"I'm sorry," Cas finally says, running his hand through Dean's hair, where Dean's head is resting on his chest. The steady beating of Cas' heart, his arm around Dean's shoulder, are finally appeasing him. "I never meant to hurt you. It's the very last thing I wanted."

“Just don't do it again, please. Don't push me away 'cause you're scared, or 'cause you think it's better for me."

Cas nods. They let go, in the end, just so they can get into their nest and cuddle close again.

"It wasn't just that. Not at first. It took me a while to figure out how I felt about you. If I was sexually attracted to you or not, what was this... this thing, that pulled me towards you. It messed with my head a lot.”

No wonder Dean felt such a turmoil around Cas, every time.

“I found you incredibly beautiful. Every time I saw you, my heart would try to beat out of my chest. I’d get flustered, I’d feel this… _painful _need to be close to you. To look at you, scent you, touch you. Nothing close to what I’d ever felt before, for anyone. And — today, my heat, it happened because your scent blockers wore off and I… I could scent you for the first time.”

Dean can’t help the smile spreading on his lips.

“So my scent triggered the first heat of your life?”

“Yes.” Cas shifts a little under Dean, adjusting his position. “Because it — it made me realize how I felt about you. How… strongly, and how much — when I smelled you, it just broke every barrier I had been able to keep.”

“Good to know,” Dean murmurs, looking up at Cas, who rolls his eyes.

“It doesn’t mean what you think it means. It — it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. It doesn’t mean I’m not ace. My body just… reacted, because we’re true mates.”

“Hey. I know that.” Cas looks, and smells, unsure. Dean moves up above him to gently cups his face, rests his forehead against his. “I know that, Cas.”

Cas snuggles close, and Dean wraps his arms around him, squeezing tightly until Cas’ breath hitches, and then releases him.

“But just so you know, learning that you’re my true mate? Best news I’ve ever heard.”

Cas smiles a little but doesn't answer, only holding onto Dean a little tighter.

There’s something about waking up with his mate in his arms that seals it for Dean — there is no going back from this. Not for him, anyway.

He can only hope that Cas feels the same, that the _good_ overcomes his fears. But right now the focus is on Cas, on getting him through this heat. They spend the day moving around the house, trying to keep comfortable between the waves, which usually resolve with a lot of scenting and cuddling. Dean sits at the foot of the bed while Cas takes care of himself, and he gets to hold him through the afterglow, and that's pretty fucking amazing.

It’s much easier than he thought it would be.

Meg comes to check on them and Dean has a very hard time letting her in, until Cas gently places a hand on his waist and tells him it’s okay, with a gentle kiss to the side of his neck.

Dean watches her the whole time she sits on (their) Cas’ couch, and she watches him right back. It’s irrational, and Dean knows that it’s a good thing that Cas has people looking out for him — but still, right now, all he can do is think about how much she stinks, and how much he wants her out of (their) Cas’ house.

And he realizes, as he walks her to the front door and locks it behind her, that he’s already starting to think of Cas’ house as _theirs_, maybe because his own apartment never felt quite like home, maybe because it smells like _them_, now, maybe because of the nest they’ve made upstairs, but also everywhere they could — turning the couch into a fort, pilling pillows and blankets in the sun room.

They don’t have much to do, because even Netflix, books, board games, and making out aren’t quite enough to fill all the hours of the day. So they talk. They talk enough to make up for an entire year of holding back around each other. An entire year of words carefully kept behind closed lips, of confessions on the tip of a tongue.

They talk about everything and nothing, finding tons of common points but also just wanting to know every single thing about each other. They keep interrupting each other, a thousand questions to ask, about childhood dreams or what they ate last week. Dean finds himself telling stupid stories he never told anyone because they weren’t worth it.

He tells Cas every silly thought popping through his brain, current or past, he tells Cas stupid jokes that make them both slip off the couch laughing, he tells Cas about the shameful things he did as an idiot teenager, he tells Cas his opinion on mayonnaise and the french tuck.

There are a million things Dean desperately wants Cas to know. How he feels, what he’s thinking about, what he loves, what he hates. All of his most intimate thoughts. He wants Cas to _know_. And he wants to know every single thought in Cas’ head, too. It’s almost too easy to do it, to tell him everything, to talk endlessly. Cas makes it easy, Cas smiles and asks and listens and replies and… Dean’s never felt like this before. Because he knows now, this is what love is, to want to be known, to want to… share. Everything. He didn’t even know what love was before, not like this, not this much.

Cas has a beautiful house, and it feels like _home_, and Dean’s already letting himself dream about living here, just like this, sharing huge and small moments with Cas. Coming back from work every night to this. He wants it, he’s wanted it, wanted _Cas_, for an entire year. From the very start.

Cas is curled up against his chest. It’s raining, the water beating against the large windows of the sunroom, and two hot chocolates are steaming on the coffee table in front of them. It’s one of those moments, so close to perfection yet scary in its fragility, easily shattered in an instant. Dean wants this every single day, forever.

“What’s going to happen to us after your heat?”

The silence that stretches between them, heavier with every minute longer that Dean’s words hang in the ir.

“I think… I think we should both take some time apart to think about this.”

Dean’s heart sinks. “Think about what, exactly?”

“I think that we should both step back and evaluate our feelings rationally, without the cloud of hormones and scent bonding.”

Dean tries to push past the heavy weight settling on his chest.

“Cas, it could take weeks for our bond to fade.”

“I know,” Cas says, in a small voice. “I don’t — I’m not looking forward to being away from you, Dean. This past year has felt excruciating, but—”

“But you chose that. For both of us. You knew what we were, you knew how I felt, how _you _felt, and—”

“Dean.”

Dean breathes out. He doesn’t want to get angry. He doesn’t want to feel bitter. He just want to put that behind them, to fucking start, finally.

“I know. I get it, you’re scared. But shit, Cas, I’m fucking terrified. Of losing you, of—” Dean rubs a hand down his face, trying to gather himself. Cas makes him come completely undone, and that’s fucking scary too. “But I know that I want this. That I want you. I knew the moment I saw you.”

“You’ve wanted me, without really knowing me. It’s different now. We both need to think about this—”

“I don’t. You’re my true mate, Cas, and I want you, I want this, I want—”

“I don’t want us to get into this, mindlessly, just because we’re true mates." Cas says, shifting away a little bit. Dean resists the urge to pull him back in, to never let him go. "It’s not a good enough reason, and it’s too dangerous a gamble. I want us to choose each other, in spite of biology, I want — I want you to want to be with me because you want _me_, not because you think it’s fate. It’s not fate. It’s a choice. And we both deserve to make it.”

Cas is right, Dean knows. Of course Dean wants Cas to choose him, too, not because he's stuck being his true mate, but because he truly does want Dean, and no one else. But still, Dean needs a minute to breathe, to think about the fact that the thing he fears most deep down — that Cas doesn’t want him — might come true. That without the hormones and the heat, Cas will realize that he doesn't truly want Dean. That he's not ready to put up with the mess that Dean is, and that it's just not enough. 

Cas moves closer again, taking Dean's face in his palms and kissing his cheek. Dean wraps his arms tighter around Cas and buries his face in his neck, breathing him in. It’s not enough but it helps.

“I’m sorry that I made that choice for both of us," Cas murmurs. "But I made up my mind, months ago, that I’d rather have you as a… friend, or even just an acquaintance, rather than loose you completely. Which is going to happen if we do this and fail. I can’t imagine going back to being your friend after knowing you as a… a lover. It was easier not to risk it.”

Dean breathes out, speaking right against Cas' lips.

“You’re not going to lose me. No matter what. No matter what you decide, no matter how much I hurt, no matter what, you can’t lose me. I’ll be your friend, I’ll be your long lost acquaintance, I’ll be — whatever you want from me, I’ll be it.”

Cas’ eyes shine with tears, and Dean just wants to make it stop. He wants it all to stop, he wants to go back to the good part.

“But I’m in love with you, Cas. Not just because you’re my true mate, and not because I want to have sex with you. I’m in love with the way you smile, and the way you talk, and the way you think, I’m in love with the way you make me feel, with the way I feel when I’m with you. I’ve been feeling that way for a year and I’m — I’m not going to stop feeling that way, ever.”

Cas looks away, lips shut tight, tears wetting his eyelashes.

“People have more than one true mate, Dean. One day — one day you might meet another one, someone who isn’t like me, someone who will have sexual desire for you and—”

It always fucking comes back to that, and Dean feels irrational anger rise inside of him. he gets up, tearing away from Cas' touch. He's fucking stripping himself bare for Cas, more vulnerable and _naked_ than he's ever been with anyone else before, and he's never been this fucking scared in his entire life — but it always comes back to this. It's like nothing he says is enough. 

“I’m not some fucking mindless animal who thinks about sex twenty-four hours a day, Cas! Believe it or not, sex is pretty much the last fucking thing on my mind, right now.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You say that, but—”

“Is that really what you fucking think of me? Because if that’s what you think I am, then you really — you really don’t fucking know me at all.”

Cas gets up to face him, crossing his shaky hands, quickly wiping a lone tear running down his cheek. “No. Dean. I—”

They both stand there, and it feels like Dean’s chest been ripped open. He’s never experienced physical pain quite such as he’s felt these past few days, every time Cas has been pushing him away. He’s never felt quite as happy as he’s been feeling either, but fuck, this _pain_, he has no idea how to handle it.

“Dean, the way you’re feeling right now, the way we’re both feeling — if we do this, and worse, if we _mate_ — this is going to be what it’s like every time we fight, every time either of us has any kind of emotions. We’ll feel it all, and it will feed off of us both. Any frustration will turn into anger, guilt, resentment, shame; you’ll resent me for not fulfilling your need, I’ll feel guilty and forced, you’ll resent yourself for making me feel that way. It will only end in pain, and we’ll be stuck, physically stuck, unable to leave, just stewing in this— like we are now.”

“But we can work through those," Dean argues. "People do, every day. We can talk, and we can — and I know you think that sex is a huge deal for me, but it’s not. It’s not.”

Cas shakes his head, wipes his cheeks again. God, he’s so fucking stubborn, and Dean loves him so fucking much. All he can do is fight for this, fight for them, until Cas gets it.

“It’s not, Cas. I like sex, okay? I do. It’s been… it’s been a huge part of my relationships, before you. Sometimes it was only that. And I think that before meeting you, I would’ve — I would’ve wondered. But I don’t anymore. I haven’t had sex in — I don’t know, six, eight months? And I don’t — I don’t miss it. Not like I’ve missed you. I’ve been missing you _so much_, and now I know what it could be like, to be with you, and…”

Cas is fully crying now, and it still hurts, because Cas hurts, they both do; but it's bearable. It's bearable because no matter what, as long as Cas fights too, they can win this. Together.

“But you’re worth it, to me. I don’t care about the fights, I don’t even care about — about how much it hurts, right now, because being with you, spending — the rest of my life with you, it’s worth it. Sitting on your couch watching Netflix with you, it’s worth it. Falling asleep next to you, waking up with you, brushing my teeth next to you, it’s worth it, to me. I want you, I want a life with you. Sex is nothing, compared to that. Fighting is nothing compared to that. I haven’t — I’ve only had that for three days but I know it’s fucking worth it and everything with you is better than — it’s better than anything with anyone else.”

It’s a messy hug that follows, full of tears and snot and kind of disgusting, but it's the win they needed.

In the end, Dean agrees that they need some space. Not because the thought of separating from his mate with this uncertainty between them is at all bearable, but because he gets Cas’ point — this needs to be a clear-headed decision, one not made in the heat of the moment, so to say.

He wants Cas to choose him, too. Not because of heat hormones, not because he's scared of losing him. He wants Cas to choose him because Dean is what he wants, not just what he got. He knows what his own answer is already, but for Cas, he’s ready to wait.

They don’t let go of each other at all, on the last day. They can both smell it, feel it, Cas’ heat is finally going down, first to a simmer, then completely. They’ve tried to ignore it, going through the day the same way they did previously — scenting, kissing, cuddling, never quite letting go of each other — and but night falls and they just can’t pretend anymore. Cas’ heat is over. Their mixed scent is all over the house, very different from the way it smelled when Dean carried Cas inside six days ago.

Dean tries not to think about what would happen, if Cas said no, how long it would take for him to lose Cas’ scent, Cas’ mark on him, completely. He said he’d be whatever Cas wants him to be, friend, acquaintance, stranger. He meant it, but… if Cas says no, if Cas decides that he’s not worth the risk, Dean knows his heart might irrevocably break.

Both their phones have been ringing off the hook, and they’ve both been taking extra vacation days, and rationally, it's time. It's time for Dean to go home, for both of them to get back to reality. It's the right thing to do, but it still feels impossible when it comes down to it. Dean packs his pillows, blankets, clothes, with a heavy heart. Cas helps him. The silence between them is heavy, too. 

“Thank you," Cas says, walking Dean to the front door. "What you did for me… thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Cas kisses his cheeks and they stay like that, foreheads braced together. Cas buries his face in Dean's neck one last time.

"I think you should go," he murmurs, but he only holds on to Dean tighter. "Because I'm about to beg you to stay."

_Maybe I could stay_, Dean wants to say. _Maybe you could come home with me. Maybe we could make it easy_.

He’s so scared of letting Cas go, of it being the last time he touches him, kisses him, scents him. But he has to believe it's not. He has to believe Cas will choose him. Trust goes both ways.

He presses his lips to Cas' mouth once more, praying that it's not the last time. 


	6. Chapter 6

Everything feels wrong. Nothing's ever been as difficult as making those steps, as closing Cas' front door behind him and walking up to his car. There’s the physical ache, of course, to be separated from his mate so soon after scent bonding on an emotionally uncertain ground. But that’s bearable, especially compared to how it felt during Cas’ heat. But it’s more than that. Dean just deeply, profoundly misses Cas as soon as he steps out of his house.

He doesn’t look forward to going home. It just smells like him, stale, old, lonely. Nothing that compares to their mixed scents all over Cas’ house. His apartment feels dark, too big and too small at the same time. Everything he likes to do — watch TV, read, play guitar, cook, work — feels heavy, lonely, boring. He doesn’t look forward to any of it, he’s almost depressed thinking about it. Drinking coffee in silence in the kitchen, the morning light cold through the small windows, is not nearly enough.

He wants to do those things with Cas. Movies aren’t fun if Cas doesn’t make dry, hilarious comments about the plot holes, if Dean doesn’t miss half of it staring at Cas when he laughs. Cooking shows are boring if Cas isn’t there to tell the contestants they’re being idiots for making panna cotta in thirty minutes, and what’s the point of cooking if Cas isn’t there to mess it up? Even just reading, he’d rather be doing it with Cas, in comfortable silence, ankles touching.

He just wants to be in the same room as him, he wants to know Cas is around. That he can just stretch out and touch him. Even just tickling Cas’ stomach, or kissing the back of his neck would be enough. There's something so soothing, so calming, when Cas is next to him, it just feels _right_. But Cas is out of reach, now. And Dean feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall, with nothing to hold him back.

He didn’t know how lonely he was before. He has friends and a job and he likes his life, and he’s been trying so hard to make himself believe that it’s enough. But it’s not. He realizes that now. It hasn’t been for a long time. He wants someone, a companion, a partner. He wants a mate, he wants _Cas. _He can't even imagine being with anyone else after knowing Cas. 

The first week is miserable, there’s no other word for it. Dean throws himself into work, staying until midnight working on cars, long after all of his colleagues have gone home with a worried look. The physical ache, he expected. It’s been proven that scent bonding, especially with a true mate, creates rushes of hormones, and a parting can feel similarly to quitting an addictive drug cold turkey. It’s much worse between mated pairs — there are detoxication centers for people leaving a true mate, supplying replacement hormones and intense therapy.

If this is how it feels, after just five days, Dean can’t even imagine how he’s survive the pain of losing Cas after a month, a year, let alone after mating. It scares him, too. Just not as much as it scares him to never be able to hold Cas again. And much worse than the physical ache is, of course, the thought that he’s just not enough for Cas to want to risk it. And after the physical pain stars to ebb, that one stays.

They've agreed on a complete separation, no contact. No texting, no phone calls. Dean wants to respect Cas’ demand for space, and it dawns on him during the second week that Cas might not just be scared of not being enough for Dean — he might think that Dean is just too much for him. Too needy. Too boring, too dumb. He’s just a mechanic, barely got his GED. Cas is an accountant, with dreams of becoming an illustrator — his paintings are all over the house, fucking gorgeous. Cas could do so much better than him.

Sure, they both geek out about the same things, but maybe that’s just not enough for Cas. Not when it comes to sharing the rest of his life with someone. 

Every morning and night, Dean’s fingers hover above his phone screen, itching to reach out — just a text, a heart, _I’m thinking about_, _please_, _I miss you_. But it’s too dangerous. He’d probably end up begging Cas for things he’s not ready to give.

Exactly 23 days, 14 hours and 36 minutes after the last time he felt Cas’ touch, Dean caves. Castiel's scent has completely faded from Dean’s, and he doesn’t wake up in a sweat. There’s nothing left, except the fact that he wishes Cas was there. That he looks for Cas everywhere he goes, that he stops breathing every time he spots a messy bedhead, a trench coat, a squint. That he's so fucking in love with Cas he can't think about anything else.

There's a thousand things Dean's been wanting to say to Cas, he has a whole list, a thousand post-its with thoughts that are piling up. What if he never gets to tell him? The only thing keeping him going, the only thing giving him hope, is that the longing beneath his ribs, that he realized is Cas’ — that’s not gone, either. Cas misses him, at least a little bit. So there's that.

Dean knows that Cas has a big meeting today, presenting a portfolio to a publishing house. They talked about it during his heat, when he showed Dean the drawings he was working on. He hopes to be hired to illustrate children’s books, and it’s a long shot, but Dean is so proud of him, and he has no doubt Cas will get the job. 

Cas has been in his thoughts day and night, but these past few days Dean’s felt this anxious energy that he knows isn’t just his own. He can’t help but feel like he should be there for Cas, to support him, to hold him, to wish him luck. His mate is all alone facing a huge stress, and it feels so wrong to be so helpless.

Dean can't resist much longer, he _has _to do something. So he takes out his phone and finds Cas in his contact. They've never texted, never called, Dean is almost surprised he has his number. _Good luck today_, he types, after debating the wording for half an hour. _You’re going to do amazing. _

He gets no answer, and no respite to the small anxiety beneath his ribs. That’s okay, he thinks. He can only rationalize, at this point. It’s okay. Hopefully, even if Cas decides he doesn’t want him as a mate, they can still be friends. Good friends. Dean’ll be able to be there for him, to support him. This is just — this is the worst of it, right now. No matter what Cas decides, it can only get better.

And Dean’s surviving, too. He’s survived two weeks, he can survive whatever comes next. The ache gets a little better as the day goes on, and Dean smiles. Good news, maybe. Cas hasn’t texted him back, and it’s okay if he doesn’t. It’s okay.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Dean repeats it to himself like a mantra on the way home, almost enough to start believing it. For once, he left work at a decent hour, which is a good sign, he thinks. He's going to be okay.

There’s someone sitting on the steps. Dean's heart hammers against his ribs, and he feels numb as he goes through the familiar steps of turning off the engine and stepping out. He knows who it is, he’d know him from a thousand miles away. He can’t really smell him, certainly he’s wearing blockers, but it is him, it’s him because the ache beneath Dean ribs has disappeared, replaced by febrile excitement, by _hope_. It’s him and Dean can’t believe it is — maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe he’s finally gone crazy.

He can’t feel his legs as he walks up to his house, the Impala’s door still hanging open, key in the ignition. Cas gets up. His tie is on backward, loosened, shirt halfway out of his pants, hair a mess. He looks like a wreck, like he hasn't slept in weeks, like he's been as thorn up about this as Dean, and somehow that's such a relief that tears well-up in Dean's eyes. He walks until they’re a foot apart, at a complete loss of what to say. He wants to reach out and touch, make sure Cas is real, but if he’s not, he’d rather not know.

But the way he smiles, the way he looks at Dean, full of hope, might be the most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen. The air is cold and crisp, the sky is dark, and he can feel Cas' warmth, where their hands are almost brushing. 

He's real, and he's here.

“I got the job,” Cas says.

“You — what? _Cas_—” Dean's not sure who reaches out first, but in a blurry moment he’s got Cas in his arms and he spins him around, nose against his cheek, smiling so wide it hurts. He holds him so tight he feels his spine crack, but Cas only grips onto him tighter. “I knew it. I knew it, fuck, Cas, that’s incredible, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

And he is — in that moment, all that matters is the fact that Cas is here, that he’s _happy_, that Dean gets to share that with him. He holds him for a little longer than he should, maybe, just not quite ready to release him yet. When he does, it’s Cas who keeps him close, arms wrapped around his neck.

He exhales a shuddery breath against Dean’s lips.

“I love you. I love you, Dean, so much, and I — you’re the only one I wanted to tell, you’re — I love you.”

The kiss that follows is messy, needy, a blur of smiles and pants and _finally_.

"I missed you," Cas says when they finally part to breathe.

“Stay there, don’t move,” Dean murmurs against Cas’ lips. He rushes back to the car, mentally apologizing for quickly tearing away his keys and slamming the doors — and then he’s grabbing Cas again, another long kiss that's not enough. He drags Cas with him as he blindly unlocks the front door and stumbles into the apartment.

Dean needs, he _needs_, he needs to kiss Cas again, kiss him more, never ever stop kissing him again. He needs to scent him, he needs those fucking blockers off, and that stupid jacket out of the way.

“Off,” he growls, as he pushes it off Cas’ shoulders. He’s loosening his tie and biting into his lips as he guides them towards the couch, knowing there’s a wet wipes box somewhere around.

He grabs Cas' waist as they both stumble down on the sofa, and then kisses him deeply into the cushions. Cas is pulling so hard at him through his shirt that he might have scratches, and groans into each kiss, fingers carding through Dean's hair.

“Wait a sec—just gonna grab some—”

Dean stretches out to grab some tissues, his other hand playing with the buttons of Cas’ shirt.

“Dean we should — we should talk before we have sex.”

Dean doesn’t immediately registers the words, just staring down at Cas, his kissed-red lips, dark tufts of hair, a complete mess. The most beautiful mess in the world, and he's all Dean's. Wait, did Castiel say something about sex?

“Uh. Yeah, that makes sense,” Dean carefully says, sitting up. “But, um, no offense, I wasn’t — I wasn’t trying to have sex with you.”

“You’re undressing me.”

“I wanted to scent you.”

Dean shows him the wipe in his hand with a faint smile. Cas sits up too and rubs a hand on his face, relief washing over them both.

“Oh. Good. Yes, I’d like that too.”

They help each other wiping off the blockers, both sighing in relief when noses meet skin, finally. For a few minutes that’s all it is — breathing each other in, right where they should be.

“But we really should talk,” Cas murmurs, voice low, as if he's afraid to break the fragile moment.

"Can it wait?" Dean’s not ready to have this all taken back. Cas indulges him, gently caressing the back of his neck, nails dragging slightly in the way he knows makes Dean shiver all over. Dean stays with his nose buried in the space between Cas’ neck and shoulders, breathing in the warm caramel apple pie, vanilla, bourbon. 

“I think we both know that there’s no way for us to get into this at a normal pace," Cas murmurs, his hand trailing up and down Dean's back. "Not to jump over all the usual steps of a budding relationship. So I think that… I think that we should take the time to talk about our fears, our expectations, our dreams, so it doesn’t become an issue years down the line.”

Dean hides his smile in Cas' neck, the words _years down the line_ making his heart explode with happiness.

"That's what dates are for," he shrugs. They both shift a little so they they can face each other, or as close to it as they can manage while still lying on Dean's couch. "We should go on dates, and talk about that."

"I like that idea," Cas smiles. He traces the shapes of Dean's face for a moment, as Dean lets himself get lost in his eyes, in their softness and their light, in the love wrapped around them both like a warm blanket. 

That’s the cue for their stomachs rumbling. And for something Dean has been desperately craving for a month: cooking for Cas. He’s up like a spring, Cas on his tail, and they move around the kitchen easily. Cas cuts his finger, somehow, while boiling the pastas, and Dean doesn’t even question it, he wraps a band-aid around it and kisses it better.

They eat huddled together on the couch, so reminiscent of the few days they’ve had together that it feels like the past two weeks didn't happen. Dean can’t believe it was just six days. He barely remembers what his life was like before.

"Just so you know, there's no dealbreaker for me. With us," he says.

"Not even mating?"

"I — I mean. I'd like to." Dean searches Cas' face, finding a slight frown, an hesitation. "Do you, um. Is it a deal breaker for you?"

"No," Cas smiles, leaning over to place a soft kiss on his lips. Dean breathes out, relieved. "But I think it's not something we should rush into. I think that... although it's a little bit untraditional, I think that we should consider marriage before mating."

Dean thinks it over, picking at the last swirl of pasta in his bowl. As eager as he is to mate with the love of his life, and finally know what being ultimately bonded feels like, Cas has a point. Mating is a lifelong bond, and even though most people mate long before they marry — Dean knows all too well that it’s actually much easier to get out of a marriage than it is to get out of a mating bond.

Marriage is just a promise. He smiles at the thought of calling Cas his husband, of paired rings on their fingers, of honeymoon suites and always having each other’s backs.

“You wanna marry me, Cas?” he teases, elbowing him a little.

Cas directs his fond smile down on his plate.

“Yes. I do.”

Dean bites his lips to hide his smile, butterflies fluttering insistently in his stomach. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this happy.

“We should talk about your ruts," Cas says as they're cleaning up. They fall into an easy rhythm together, Dean washing the plates and Cas drying them and putting them away.

“I can just stay at my place during those," Dean shrugs, scrubbing a stubborn piece of melted cheese. "And, um, if we live together, I can just take the spare bedroom.”

Cas takes the wet plate from Dean's hand and wraps it in his hand towel. “I would like to be there for you, during those, as much as possible. In a similar way as you’ve been there for me during my heat.”

For a second Dean thinks of arguing — fearing for Cas’ safety with his own hormones going crazy. But he knows now that he’d never, ever hurt Cas, not even in the depth of rut. Nothing is stronger than his love for Cas, and biology can suck it. It would also be kind of amazing not to be all alone during ruts. To be taken care of.

“I’d like that,” he says instead.

Cas has never looked at him like this. Even during his heat, he was always a little guarded, a little scared. He was still keeping a little bit of distance between him and Dean. But now — the way he looks at Dean, open, transparent, and so full of love, it makes Dean feel like he’s floating a thousand miles above the ground. 

They don't have time to make a nest yet, but it doesn't matter. They curl up around each other in bed, and take a long time to just scent-mark each other, until the whole bed smells like _them_, until the scent of loneliness and heartache is finally gone for good. 

There's a lot left to talk about, a lot of questions unanswered. There's so much they still don't know about each other, but Dean isn't scared one bit.

"I love you," Cas murmurs, his curled fingers gently stroking Dean's cheek. 

Dean blinks, mind foggy with exhaustion. He tightens his grip around Cas, sighs into the skin of his neck. "I love you too. Lover." 


End file.
